


"I Am a Fighter"

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Death, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt Pidge | Katie Holt, Hurt/Comfort, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Minor Character Death, Moral Dilemmas, Morality, Pidge | Katie Holt Angst, Pidge | Katie Holt Whump, Psychological Torture, Sassy Pidge | Katie Holt, Torture, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 13:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 29,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21733156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: The Galra capture Pidge and present her with a choice. Either she makes the weapon they want… or someone dies. Pidge prides herself on her genius, on her logic. But this? This is not a choice. This is torture. She’s being forced to decide if the universe’s fate outweighs the lives of a few individuals and no one, no one, should be allowed to make that call. She has to though. Again and again.But when a familiar face is dragged before her she can feel her resolve crumbling. Because Keith is not a nameless prisoner. He is her friend, herfamily. And yet his blood is already dripping from her hands.
Relationships: Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 428
Kudos: 510





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Set later season four, post Voltron Show, but before battle on Naxzela  
**Warning notes:** Please read this in full. This is a rather dark story. It will include a number of references to death and morality including the concepts of the needs of many outweigh the needs of a few, of sacrificial suicide, and being forced to kill. There will be minor character deaths. There will also be graphic violence and torture. The majority of these things are centered around Pidge, who is 15 yoa here, and later Keith (he will be the one being tortured/physically whumped) and this is obviously a different audience than my Lance fics generate. Please keep these things in mind before proceeding to reading. Thank you.

“And what does the little Green Paladin have for me today?”

Pidge sighed, making sure it was loud and audible.

It was the one bit of control she had in this situation and she would not allow the Galra to take it from her.

No matter what she refused to be scared by them.

She refused to give them that power. 

“You are aware the definition of stupidity is asking the same question over and over with no change of variable and somehow expecting a different result. My answer is the same as the last six times you asked me: _ nothing.” _

Pidge waited for the inevitable.

Commander Lozan, or as she preferred to call him, Asshole, would react in one of three ways.

He with either threaten her with bodily harm even though they both knew he would do no such thing as the Galra needed her in top working condition, mind and body. There might occasionally be a slap or a shove, but it was nothing Pidge couldn’t handle and as the Galra had learned getting within striking of distance of her meant she fought back.

Asshole still had a bandage wrapped about his hand from where she’d sunk her teeth in the other day so she doubted he was willing to try that again so soon.

He would throw pieces and parts and yell at her, all to Pidge’s raised eyebrow and sometimes a yawn, but he never once struck her. _ Shitty aim, _ Pidge taunted him and the resulting circuit board had _ almost _hit her then.

Or, if he was in a really foul mood he might deny her rations for the day. It’s not like the tasteless gruel, worse even than food goo, was anything to miss and Pidge could certainly go without it (and had, a few times now) although she did miss the water.

He did none of those things.

Instead he smiled.

It was not a nice smile.

And for only the second time since she’d been captured (the first being when she’d awoken in this cell and told what was expected,of how _ excited _ the Galra were to have her, the _ technological genius, _of Voltron in their hands) she felt a shiver go down her spine.

Something had changed.

What?

She’d made it clear she wouldn’t work for them. She wouldn’t build them the advanced laser gun they wanted (_ let’s start with something easy) _ , and definitely not anything even more dangerous. No tech. No hacking. No coding. She didn’t care what they did to her, she would _ never _ help the Galra Empire. No threat, no torture, no bribe, _ nothing, _would ever gain her cooperation. 

She’d tried to fool them on the first day, playing meek and scared, and taking their supplies and building herself a (very basic, shitty) gun with which to escape. And she had, shot Asshole right in the face (the crystal hadn’t been powerful enough for a fatal blow, unfortunately) as soon as he opened the door and ran out...

Right into a contingent of sentries and despite her best efforts she had been re-captured and put back into her cell. 

The only repercussion outside of a backhanded slap from Asshole was the crystal power source had been taken away and she had been ordered to work on making the gun without it. 

She refused.

And despite the fact she sat there, day in and day out, doing nothing except rearranging the parts out of sheer boredom, they did _ nothing _to her except the aforementioned three reactions.

It was the perfect spot to be in as a prisoner.

All she had to do was continue to wait. She _ knew _her team would find her.

Eventually. 

They were busy, fighting both Lotor’s forces and the Galra Empire. Outside of Hunk and Coran they didn’t have many technological brain cells to rub together to devise some sort of tracking device (Pidge honestly wasn’t sure she would know how to do it either but if anyone could she trusted those two). But she knew they’d have contacted her brother and the rebels. The Blade. Probably the Olkari. She knew they would all be trying to find her, to save her. 

She just had no idea how long it would take.

And while such a thought of the unknown should scare her Pidge had already made the decision not to be scared and so she would not. 

Her mind was too valuable to risk damaging (although she hated, _ hated, _ that they had known that about her, had laid a trap that resulted in her capture so they could attempt to use her and she just prayed daily that everyone else had made it out of that rigged base all right because they _ had _to be okay) and her role as a Paladin was too important to kill her out of frustration. 

She knew, ultimately, something would have to change but the Galra had seemed to be employing a wait and see method as though she would just one day roll over and decide to assist them out of boredom, but it had yet to appear and Pidge had decided it was not worth worrying about until it happened because she hoped her rescue would arrive before that.

Well.

It was happening.

Outwardly she tried not to show her sudden unease at the smile, at the lack of anger from Asshole.

Calm, she told herself.

Be fierce.

Don’t give them control.

“You eat something funny?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Because your face is all kinds of freaky looking right now. You should stick with the scowls, Asshole. They’re a better look for you.”

The creepy smile remained.

“You still refuse to complete the project assigned to you?”

“Assigned?” Pidge repeated, incredulous. “Are you fucking serious?”

Asshole continued to speak as though she had merely agreed with him. 

“Given that our previous methods of gaining your cooperation have failed--”

“Who the fuck are you?” she demanded, as this could not be Asshole, the words too polished, he too calm, but there was no mistaking his ugly countenance of pointy purple chin and bat-like ears and full yellow eyes. “What’s with the fancy vocabulary? You Asshole’s twin or something?”

“--we are employing a new tactic. It is one,” Asshole’s lips curled, “I will find very enjoyable.”

“Yeah?” Pidge crossed her arms. “And what’s that? Going to take away my chair? Find an even more disgusting food substitute?”

Don’t show them any fear.

Don’t give them control.

Asshole’s smirk only widened. 

“You will find out momentarily. Come,” he gestured towards the door and Pidge barely kept from gaping.

They were letting her _ out? _

What kind of idiots were they truly?

She slowly stood up from the actually pretty comfortable chair and then made a show of cracking her back and stretching.

Like hell she was going to comply so easily. Asshole would let it go to his head and she couldn’t have that.

Plus, she was using the time to scan Asshole’s belt unobtrusively (although it’d be better if she had her glasses but those had been confiscated along with her armor although she’d been allowed to keep her own undersuit) but even without the glinting cover she was able to pick out his blaster and some sort of tablet clipped on the opposite side.

Perfect.

She’d relieve him of his items, escape to a vent, reach out to Voltron on his tablet and before they could even think to put her back in her glorified cell Allura would be wormholing the entire castle and they would be faced with the full might and rage of Voltron.

Asshole was tall, nearly eight feet, putting Pidge’s head a little above his elbow. The perfect height to stumble and just so happen to grab at the items on his belt. 

“Hands out in front,” Asshole ordered as she walked around her work table. 

“Why? Afraid I’ll scratch you?” Pidge eye rolled even as she internally cursed, the weight from the cuffs clamped about her wrists never feeling heavier. They had yet to actually engage them and Pidge had honestly hoped they had been forgotten.

“I will not ask nicely again.”

And just like how his words had been more eloquent, more measured than previous, so too was the veiled warning. 

Pidge tried not to swallow as the realization hit.

She had not been the only one playing games. 

Now the question was, which version of Asshole was the real one? 

She had a sickening feeling it was this one.

Why though? What had been the purpose of doing so? 

Ice flooded her stomach as her eyes flicked to the bandage wrapped about his hand, what she had previously viewed as a victory.

He’d let her bite him.

He’d let her snark back at him.

He’d let her think he was this, this _ buffoon, _of who she was smarter than in every way.

And by doing so…

She’d let her guard down, unintentionally. She’d _ assumed -- _ and the thought she had done so rankled even above the prickling horror -- things about the commander, about her situation, and she had become _ complacent. _

What did he have planned?

Was it torture? The Druids could probably inflict high levels of pain without damaging her mind or her body. Would they try to pull secrets out of her mind? Could they do mind control? Could they wipe her memories? Shiro after all didn’t remember most of his time when he was a prisoner; had it been Druids? 

God.

But, she tried to comfort herself as she grudgingly brought her wrists in front of her and kept the bored sigh on the exterior, there wasn’t much she could have done. Even knowing that Asshole was in fact a more calculating foe than she’d anticipated would have done nothing and it’s not like she had given up anything of importance either. 

She could have mentally been preparing herself though. Maybe some breathing exercises or, or some sort of mind barrier (how she had no idea, but too late now) to keep the Druids out. 

She _ hated _ magic. Magic _ sucked balls. _ It was unpredictable, it was something she couldn’t plan for or anticipate like beautiful science and there was no way for her to counter it. Even after _ months _of the whole concept of quintessence and mind-melding with not just fellow humans (and an Altean now) but a giant sentient robotic lion, she still couldn’t explain how it worked and despite grilling Coran and Allura they hadn’t been able to offer her the answers she desired.

She really, really hoped she wasn’t about to get a firsthand look.

The cuffs connected to one another with a little _ zing _that made her hair raise but nothing worse than a static shock and she glared at Asshole as she lowered them to rest in front of her. “Happy now?”

“Very.”

And saying so he opened the cell, the door sliding into the ceiling with nary a whisper and he gestured for her to step in front of him. Pidge debated flight for all of a second; he may be tall but she was _ fast _but nixed it; there was no way there weren’t sentries posted outside again to grab her and with her hands bound she couldn’t type as she needed nor scramble about a vent system so easily.

She was heading into the unknown right now. But she could still gather data; the base layout, the number of sentries, any possible codes that weren’t Galra-signature on the doors. 

She may be a prisoner but she refused to be just that. 

And with her head held high she strode past Asshole into the hall…

Where a contingent of six sentries waited all armed with blasters.

Running would have been pointless anyway.

The Galran’s clawed hand descended on her shoulder from behind and Pidge jerked away from him, bristling. “Only warning, Asshole, I’ll bite next time,” she threatened, baring her teeth.

Don’t show fear, she repeated it to herself again.

Don’t show fear.

Don’t give them control.

He chuckled and gave a slight shake of his head but didn’t reach for her again.

Pidge marked it as a victory in her book because she really, really needed one right now.

“Walk,” he said instead, making a gesture for her to go in front of him and she tried to resist tensing.

Should she try and run? It was a clear hallway in front, her feet were unbound and depending on what was in store this might be the best health she’d find herself in and it would be foolish not to take the chance when--

Two sentries clanked to stand in front of her and two more flanked her sides.

Damn it.

Pidge walked quietly with her armed escort but her mind was anything but as she noted turns, doors, and any type of feature that would give her a direction.

She realized within two minutes that they were repeating the same passage as based on the number of steps taken and the angle they were traversing there was nowhere for them to go but to repeat the same hallway. She hid her smirk. Joke was on them if the thought walking her around for extra time would disorient her.

Almost ten minutes later they came to a halt outside of a nondescript door that by Pidge’s calculations was actually only about three hallways from her own cell and, even more importantly, a few turns away from what appeared to be from past knowledge of Galra bases the hallway to a flight deck.

Her success at noticing such, of knowing if she could make a break for it there was no way she couldn’t reconfigure one of their ships and blast herself out, was fading as she stood in front of the door and she resisted the urge to wipe her hands on her legs as she could feel them now starting to grow the slightest bit clammy.

What was in there?

Torture chamber? Druids? 

The door slid open…

And revealed an empty room.

“Another cell?” she asked instead, turning to look at Asshole. “Are you serious? Wow, great job. The change in decor is just the motivator I needed to work for you because nothing screams inspiration like an empty room. That was sarcasm by the way,” she added, just in case it wasn’t clear.

“In,” was all he said and Pidge stomped her way into it, flicking her eyes up for something that would indicate this cell was different somehow. She saw a camera nestled in the ceiling just like in her own cell but otherwise the only point of interest was one wall had a giant mirror along the length of it.

Was this an interrogation room with a one-way mirror?

That made no sense though as there was nothing here to restrain her, nothing to torture her with for information and honestly the cameras the Galra employed worked just fine so there was no need for a specialized audience of who Pidge could infer were watching her anyway.

Was…

Was _ she _on the viewing side of the mirror and they wanted her to look in on someone else? Who? Why? 

“Take a look, Paladin,” Asshole gestured at the mirror and Pidge raised an eyebrow as both he, herself, and two sentries that had entered the room behind them stared back. 

She looked the same as always although her eyes looked bigger without the cover of glasses and her hair had a slight shine of oil and was looking a little rough around the edges.

“Are you trying to make me feel bad about the fact I haven’t had a bath in almost a week?” she asked, meeting his yellow eyes in the reflection. 

“Would you like one?” he asked, meeting her stare. 

“You think that’s going to bribe me?” she snorted, breaking their gazes apart. “Please.”

“You may wish you had reconsidered.”

Before she could come up with a retort the glass flickered in front of them and Pidge both wanted to fist bump that yes, she had been right about the one-way mirror, and recoil at what was on the other side.

Prisoners.

But more than that…

_ Rebels. _

There were three of them, all still wearing their uniforms and insignias that marked them as such, in three different species. 

Not Matt.

Not even his division.

She tried not to outwardly show her relief to at least that much.

They were unharmed and unrestrained other than their hands bound like Pidge’s were in front of her with cuffs. The sole male of the group, who looked a bit like Rolo but green-skinned, was pacing back and forth while the other two; an alien that looked a bit like a pig and one that Pidge could really only describe as “orange” sat on the far wall with their heads bowed and talking too quietly for Pidge to pick up actual words.

“These three were captured trying to infiltrate a base a few systems over,” Asshole said. “They were to be sent to the Arena but I had them brought here instead.”

Pidge filed that away. Commander Lozan apparently had some higher connections in the Galra Empire. She’d known he had to have some measure of power due to the fact _ he _was in charge of her and this whole operation of force the Green Paladin to design him weapons, but it wasn’t just in relation to this quadrant of space.

“They are to be your incentive,” Asshole continued. “You have until tomorrow at this time to produce the gun I requested you build. If you fail to do so then you will have the pleasure of choosing which one of them dies.”

The word echoed.

Dies.

_ Dies. _

Not tortured. Not hurt.

Someone was going to _ die _if she didn’t comply.

But…

But if she did as they asked…

This would be only the beginning. 

She’d known something was going to have to change.

But this…

This she hadn’t expected at all.

She couldn’t Asshole see that it affected her, that, that she _ cared _what happened to these aliens. If she did…

It would give them the power, the control. 

The universe could not afford that.

But…

But neither could these aliens.

What did she do?

“You’re very dramatic,” she said, wrenching her gaze away from the prisoners. “Practice in the mirror?”

It was his turn to raise an eyebrow. “You do not care about their lives? How…” his lip curled, “interesting.”

“Do you care about the lives of a random Galra soldier stationed across the universe?” Pidge countered.

Asshole let out a bark of laughter. “Of course not. But _ I _am not a Paladin of Voltron, now am I?”

“And thank God for that.”

Asshole chuckled again. “Well, if that’s how you truly feel then I suppose I have no need to keep these scum alive any longer.” He reached up and tapped on his communicator. 

There was apparently a signal in there as the door inside the cell opened and a contingent of sentries trooped in. The rebels were immediately on their feet with shouts but within a few ticks they had been immobilized by sheer numbers and the strength of the robots and all were on their knees with a sentry behind them, blaster pressed into their heads, execution style.

Orange was struggling and not-Rolo was cursing loudly while Pig’s eyes were down and her shoulders were trembling.

Pidge let out a shaky breath.

He’d called her bluff.

“On my signal,” Asshole said. “We’ll start with the loud one.”

The loud one.

Pidge was _ slammed _with memories of Lance, her teases of him always talking, always yelling, that cocky smirk and grin that hid softer smiles and gentle eyes.

God.

God, no. 

The blaster whined to a purple charge and not-Rolo’s curses and straining increased to no avail. Pig was openly crying now, broken sobs a backdrop to the yells.

“And--”

“Stop!” it came out more breathless, higher than she wanted, and she could _ feel _Asshole’s smirk, his victory.

She’d played right into his hands and they both knew it.

But what was she supposed to do? She couldn’t just stand by as they _ murdered _ people right in front of her _ because _of her.

“Stop,” she repeated, forcing herself to meet that cruel gaze. “I’ll build your gun. _ If,” _ she emphasized the word and pointed with her bound hands, “you let _ all _ of them go. _ Alive.” _

She didn’t both asking for not hurt; such a thing was unlikely to a bored Galra prison guard, and additional bartering would only make her look weaker. She had to try and maintain some level of control.

“You think you’re in a position to negotiate?” 

“That’s my offer, take it or leave it.” 

But Asshole only let out another throaty laugh. “It appears you can be reasoned with after all, Green Paladin.”

Pidge’s knees felt weak with relief as the sentries released the prisoners, shoving them forward but otherwise no worse for the wear, and exited out of the cell. 

They were okay.

They were all alive. 

She hadn’t just gotten them killed.

Her knees shook for a different reason then as Asshole’s hand landed on her shoulder, claws digging in tight and he bent down, lips nearly brushing her ear.

He’d won.

He knew it.

He knew that for all her bravado that she knew it too.

“Let’s see what you’ll have for me tomorrow, little Paladin,” he whispered, breath ghosting both fire and ice against her cheek. “And for their sakes…I do hope your answer is not ‘nothing.'” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written as a gift for my sister who loves Pidge angst and Keith whump. 30,000 words later… ;p This is likely one of the last chaptered fics I’m posting on AO3; I’m still debating my future on this site but we’ll at least have this one and finish up the other chaptered fic currently posting and just wanted to provide forewarning. I almost chose not to post this here at all (given how great earlier Pidge-centered fics have gone over; see yesterday’s update for most recent xDD) but since I did preview it on [my Tumblr](http://www.icypantherwrites.tumblr.com) it felt cruel not to. 
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!** I’m not sure what the update schedule for this will be; definitely no update next Monday as that’s my birthday but maybe one more before the holidays. Thanks for reading, hope to see you in the comments below :)


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are taking the time to read this fic **please** take the time to leave a comment. It's only a few moments (or a few minutes if you're feeling extremely kind) for you but I can guarantee you it took the author far far longer to write the chapter and hearing from readers means so much. Thank you.

Pidge couldn’t do it. She couldn’t build it.

Her hands trembled in front of her, the screwdriver wavering.

She couldn’t build it.

There were so many variables to apply that simple but not at all, not really, sentence too.

She couldn’t build it in the physical sense because the schematics they had given her, stolen from of a weapon of Olkari design, were too complex to be dissected in a day, probably even a week. She wasn’t even sure if Hunk would have been able to do it.

Maybe, maybe had she had more than a day she could have wrangled something together, some at least base model to show she was working, but a single day to pretty much design something like this?

Impossible.

They’d originally given her a laser gun to build but upon this newest development they had taken it away, replaced it with this.

She faintly wondered if she was expected to fail.

(She already knew the answer to that. She just didn’t want to acknowledge yet what it meant).

Not only that…

Even if she was able to do so she couldn’t build it because if she did the Galra were going to use it to hurt people. It wasn’t just a gun, one she could try and shrug her shoulders and say a gun was a gun and so what so what did one design matter?

No. This gun was unlike any she had seen up in space but was all too common on Earth.

It used bullets.

Lasers were actually all things relatively safe in the grand scope of a war. They burned, yes, but they cauterized wounds instantly from the heat so bleeding out wasn’t a possibility unless it was like, a really, really big cannon. They tended to glance off of armor and could be reflected and redirected with proper shields. 

Not bullets.

Bullets would pierce, sink inside and wreak havoc even after the battle was over in ways that no one would know how to treat. It was a relatively new concept up here (and one Pidge was so so thankful they hadn’t accidentally brought with them from Earth in the form of Lance or Hunk’s bayards shooting something of that nature) and frankly she’d been shocked to see the Olkari design.

She wondered what had inspired it. 

She wondered how the Galra had gotten their hands on it.

She told herself she didn’t have the luxury of wasting time doing so when it didn’t matter now. 

She couldn’t build it. 

This… this could change the scope of the war. It would start with the smaller gun they wanted. It would morph to heavier artillery. It might grow to something the size of a ship cannon. They could change the bullets too, find different things to shoot. A poison, a virus, designed to cripple them from within. 

People would _ die. _

It would be her fault. 

She couldn’t build it.

But if she didn’t…

If she didn’t then those three rebels would die.

They would only be the first. The Galra had far too many people at their disposal; prisoners of war, civilians from captured planets, hell, they could probably threaten a_ planet _. They would not stop until they got what they wanted. 

It was the moral dilemma Pidge had never thought she would have to face: did she put the needs of the many above the needs of a few? Or did she protect those she had faces to and jeopardize the unknown?

She didn’t know.

She _ couldn’t _know. That was a question with no real answer.

What she needed was _ time. _

Time to plot an escape, time to stall, time for a rescue, time to figure out how to save everyone.

It was time she did not have.

She’d shouted several times at the camera that they were not just insane but _ stupid _if they thought she could build this weapon in a single day. 

There’d of course been no answer.

Coding was her thing, hacking. She was no slouch at mechanical engineering but it wasn’t her passion, not like Hunk. They’d have been better of targeting him if they wanted weapons.

She eliminated the thought the moment it crossed her mind with a shudder and twisting stomach that had her curling up on her metal slab of a bed. God. The idea of Hunk here, of any of them…

Her mind had flashed once more to the not-Rolo, the “loud one,” the one that could so easily be Lance.

Could be Matt. 

God.

She couldn’t do this. 

She couldn't build the weapon.

She couldn’t let them die.

She couldn’t win. 

But she had to try. It wasn’t in her blood to give up. There _ had _to be a way.

Stalling, she decided on. She would stall.

She’d made it clear already the gun was not going to happen in a day, even had she actually wanted to build it. It just wasn’t physically possible. But she could _ look _like she was working on it, maybe actually try and assemble some of the less-lethal components.

It was all she could offer.

She prayed it would be enough.

(She already had the sickening feeling it would not be but she had to believe because if she didn’t… then… then…)

It did beg the question though, if it was and they actually gave her a couple more days…

What then?

She pushed the question aside, buried it deep. 

Not now.

She couldn’t think about it now.

One day at a time. 

She just had to save the three rebels for one more day. And then the next. And the next.

Focus.

Focus focus _ focus. _

She made herself sleep at one point, time hard to tell as her cell lights never dimmed but pulling the blanket up over her face darkened it enough, but she didn’t sleep well.

How could she?

Breakfast, or what she called as such, arrived afterwards and she’d mechanically eaten the purple colored gruel although it rolled in her stomach all day. There was no lunch and she’d continued to work on the gun, intermittently addressing the camera and Asshole who she knew had to be watching and reminding him that she was working but this not going to happen anytime soon.

Never, actually, but she obviously kept that to herself.

The day had gone too fast and too slow all at once and she was sitting here now waiting for the door to open, for the question Asshole always asked although this time her answer would be different. 

(But was it enough?)

She placed the screwdriver down on the table only to pick it back up again for something to do with her hands, limbs jittery and sweat prickling all down her back.

Every minute that Asshole didn’t show up was another minute the prisoners lived, that they were okay.

That she hadn’t just signed their death sentence.

God.

God, she was going to be sick.

Pidge groaned and hunched over, bringing her hands and the screwdriver to press against her stomach, willing it to settle. 

It did not.

And now she could feel hot tears pricking her eyes and she hurriedly blinked them back.

“Goddamnit it,” she whispered, the curse echoing in the cell. “God fucking damnit.”

She hadn’t let herself cry once since she was captured. 

She wasn’t going to start now.

She couldn’t.

(There were a lot of things she couldn’t do these days.)

She brought her shoulder up to swipe at her eyes, to forcibly push the tears back inside.

No crying.

She couldn’t be this miserable, _ pathetic, _mess when Asshole arrived. Seeing her fall apart on camera was bad enough, in person was worse.

And speak of the devil the door whooshed open.

Pidge lifted her head, narrowing hopefully not red-rimmed eyes at the smug Galran that strode in.

He looked like the cat that ate the fucking canary.

“And what does the little Green Paladin have for me today?”

Pidge could feel the smirk in the question.

He already knew the answer.

She just had to make it work in her favor.

“Not nothing,” she said. “Just like you requested.” She forced a sharp grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. 

“Cute, but not enough. I ordered a gun, Paladin. I do not see my gun.”

“Then maybe you should have let me build the original one you wanted. Not, not _ this,” _Pidge waved the screwdriver at the schematic sheet. “This is impossible and you know it.”

The _ sharp _screwdriver, she noted.

About six inches long.

More than enough to…

“The Olkari did it.”

“The Olkari can create shit with their fucking minds,” Pidge snapped, eyes flicking quickly over Asshole’s shoulder. No sentries. No backup. “You want this,” she gestured again at the schematics, “you should have captured one of them.”

Which was a point she was still wondering about.

She was not a weapons specialist. If any of the Paladins were it would be Hunk, who could build things as easily as breathing even if she knew this design would still take him a few days to dissect. 

But even better than him would be an Olkari, who had created this weapon in the first place.

And yet it had been she who they had specifically targeted, had cut off from the team when they had entered the base.

Why?

Stall, her mind told her as another tangent calculated the distance between her, the table, and the Galran’s exposed throat. Get answers too, if possible, before she...

Something still wasn’t adding up.

Asshole only hummed.

Fuck. He hadn’t taken the bait.

She really hated this new version of him.

“The point stands, Paladin, I do not see my gun,” Asshole said. “And that means…”

“That means you’re an idiot with no time management skills,” Pidge filled in. “We all know, Asshole. It’s all right. Stupidity isn’t something you can fix after all.”

His eyes narrowed and Pidge met it.

Good.

Get angry at _ her. _Leave the prisoners out of it.

“It _ means,” _he stressed the word, “that it’s time for you to make a decision. Who will live today, Paladin, and who will die?”

Her hand tightened on the screwdriver.

The table was about three feet high. She could make it. 

But could she do _ it? _

She didn’t have a choice. 

“You don’t know?” she asked.

She shifted her weight.

Checked her grip on the screwdriver.

Steady, tight. Even if he activated the cuffs to bind her hands she should be able to strike.

One chance.

Him or them.

He cocked his head, amused more than confused. “You have already chosen?”

“Yup,” Pidge chirped.

She bunched her legs below her.

“You.”

She cleared the table in half a tick, crossed its width in the second half. 

She _ leapt, _battle cry roaring free as she angled her makeshift weapon for his throat.

Asshole’s yellow eyes were wide, his mouth parted, surprised.

But there was no fear. 

Pidge found a second later why.

Pain _ erupted _from her wrists — shock cuffs, she faintly noted in the back of her mind, they were fucking shock cuffs — and her hand spasmed, releasing the screwdriver.

No!

No no no no _ no! _

A different sort of cry was torn from her.

Her body contorted in the air, her head smashing against the Galran as she came down but it was barely a glancing blow and her ears were ringing as she struck the ground, right shoulder smashing into the table all while her wrists continued to _ burn _with the shocks.

They cut off abruptly a tick later.

She sucked in a harsh breath, hands already outstretched and reaching for the fallen screwdriver — what the fuck was she going to do with it now? What the fuck oh God she’d messed up she’d messed up but if she could just grab it then—

A booted foot _ smashed _into her back and what little breath she had left was knocked out with the blow and her reaching hand fell short of its prize.

“Foolish,” Asshole ground his foot harder and Pidge let out a choked gasp. 

He didn’t need to say more.

The failure hurt worse than the cuffs, than his foot. 

God.

A clawed hand descended into her hair at the same moment she felt her wrists drawn together with a hissing snap and the foot removed itself from her. 

She didn’t struggled as he lifted her up, her body heavy and limp.

Is this how Lance had felt when she’d shocked him with her bayard?

God.

_ God. _

Asshole lifted her to dangle in front of him and she couldn’t help the tears that time, reflexive and frustrated, as all of her weight hung from her twisted hair.

“Let’s find out now who dies today, hmm?”  
“N-no,” she choked out, foot twitching weakly as though kicking him would save her.

Save them.

Oh God.

“It won’t be you,” Asshole said conversationally as he exited the cell, still carrying her in front of him like some wayward puppy. “And it definitely will not be myself.”

“No,” Pidge protested again. “No.”

God no.

Not this.

Someone was going to _ die _ because of _ her. _

No.

“You were correct,” Asshole said, not even bothering to disguise their path this time. He’d either figured out there was no point or…

Or he wasn’t worried about Pidge ever escaping to put it to use.

She swallowed down the sob.

Everything was falling apart.

“You were expected to fail,” he continued, making a left. One more hallway to go before… “Had you succeeded I would have been astounded and pleased indeed, but this was punishment for your earlier refusals. You wasted my time, Paladin, so now I wasted yours.”

“Please,” she whispered. “Don’t do this.”

There was no point in pretending otherwise anymore. 

She had nothing else left to lose and they…

They had everything.

“I will not do anything to them,” Asshole said. 

His grip tightened. “You will.”

“Please,” she said it again. “Don’t hurt them.”

Hurt would be a blessing.

She just couldn’t say kill. 

“This is your fault,” Asshole told her. “You should have done as asked when I was being benevolent with my offers. Then it would not have had to come to this.”

Her fault.

Yes.

Yes it was.

But… but she _ couldn’t. _

The universe… all those other people..

But now…

God.

God.

The screwdriver flashed in her eye.

She’d been aiming for Asshole’s jugular.

Maybe…

Maybe she should have turned it on herself.

Then the Rebels wouldn’t die and—

But Matt. Her dad. Her _ family. _What would they…? Could she even…?

Bile tickled her tongue.

She shook for an entirely different reason at the cold horror the thought brought on.

Could she kill herself? 

Would it spare others?

Could… could the universe afford the cost of her death?

Could it afford for her to continue to live?

“And here we are,” Asshole entered the viewing cell. 

She was almost grateful for the interruption.

She took that back as Asshole lowered her to the ground and she got a glimpse of the three Rebels.

All were kneeling already, a sentry behind them and a gun pressed to their heads. 

They were not fighting this time.

There was no screaming.

Pig’s shoulders were still shaking and Orange’s large lips were moving silently.

Not-Rolo’s eyes were closed, his lips pressed together.

Pidge wondered how long they’d been kneeling like that for, just waiting for their lives to end.

She wondered if they even knew _ why. _

She closed her eyes as though that could make it less real. 

Asshole’s claws were tight now on her shoulders, the only thing keeping her standing.

“Now,” his breath hit her ear as he bent down, “which one would you like to kill for your failure today?”

Pidge mutely shook her head. 

None.

No.

God no.

“Choose,” Asshole said. “Or I will choose for you.”

“No,” she whispered. 

“Choose.”

“No one.”

“That is not a choice, Paladin. Last chance. Who will die?”

She swallowed down a sob.

“How about I educate you?” Asshole said, his voice ghosting on her cheek now. 

She didn’t know what that meant.

She didn’t want to.

“The male is the pilot of this little group. His name is Rtui. It sounds like he has two children waiting for him to come home.”

Pidge shuddered.

No.

She didn’t want names to the faces. 

Asshole could be making them up but… but it didn’t matter. The person on the other side of the glass was still a _ person. _Still had loved ones. 

And she was going to kill someone.

“The female Oliceher, the one on the left, is the captain. It was her decision making that got her team captured. Her name is Peper.”

That was the one Pidge had described as orange. 

That left…

“And in the center we have the lovely Swilia. She appears to have just joined the Rebels last deca-phoeb and this was her first mission. Not quite what she imagined it would be, hm?”

No.

Pidge didn’t want to know these things.

She committed them to memory anyway. 

Just… just in case.

God.

“Now who will it be?”

“No one,” she repeated. 

How could she pick?

How could she sentence someone to death?

God.

God God God _ God. _

“Paladin, that is not an acceptable answer. Last chance. _ Choose.” _

Choose a father? Choose a new recruit? Choose the captain?

Logic told her who to pick. A captain went down with the ship after all. The captain was responsible for their crew.

But even assuming these people were as Asshole said and not some made up profiles, to so easily point a finger, to condemn someone to death because of _ her _failure...

No.

She wouldn’t do it.

She _ couldn’t _do it.

She lifted her chin with far more bravado than she felt. “I refuse.”

Asshole chuckled. “That means I choose. And hm, I did say the loud one first last time. I think I’ll go with my original choice.”

And saying so Pidge heard a blaster whine to life in the cell.

“No!” Pidge tried to twist around, to kick backwards, _ anything _ to free herself, to _ stop him, _but she was held fast by the force on her shoulders. “No. Please. Please, don’t do this.”

“Watch closely now,” Asshole whispered. “His death is your fault.”

And God help her Pidge found her eyes, blurry now, being drawn back to the cell.

To the alien — to _ Rtui, _ a _ father, _God, no no no — and his bowed head, his still closed eyes, that even then could not contain a single tear trekking down his cheek and highlighted by the purple glow behind his head.

“No,” she moaned. “No. Please. Please don’t—”

The gun went off. 

Swilia screamed.

Rtui fell forward, unrestrained now.

Pidge caught sight of a hole, barely the size of her fingertip, through his forehead.

The back of his head though was a mass of blood and gore and brain matter.

Dead.

Dead dead dead.

She’d just killed someone.

“And now for Swalia.”

Asshole’s words sounded as though from far away, an echo in the fog.

But they pierced through a moment later.

What?

_ What? _

“No,” and her voice didn’t even sound human, a guttural sounding sob. “No. You can’t—”

“You failed to make a decision,” Asshole said. “And because of yet another failure you must be punished. There are consequences, little Paladin, for disobeying me.”

“Please—”

The second gun sounded.

Swalia’s screaming cries cut off abruptly.

Pidge choked on her tears.

She couldn’t _ breathe. _

God.

God this could not be happening.

“There are two people who failed here today,” Asshole said softly. Cruelly. “Yourself, of course, and dear Captain Peper. She could not protect her crew, you see, as a captain should. But it is not she I wish to punish and so I shall end her suffering now.”

No.

He couldn’t mean.

Pidge’s eyes flew to the remaining kneeling figure, her claws interlaced with one another in her cuffs and gelatinous tears pooling on her chin.

She knew. 

The blaster glowed purple behind her head.

And a deafening _ bam _later the last Rebel fell.

Pidge stared, unseeing.

No.

This… this couldn’t be real.

Three people couldn’t be…

“Perhaps next time you will heed my warning.”

Next time?

God.

God no.

And yet there was nothing she could do as the cell door opened and the sentries marched in with five prisoners this time, all in the typical Galra prison uniform with hands shackled behind in front and sentries and blasters at their backs.

Even with that kind of encouragement they still halted in horror as they took in the three murdered aliens lying on the floor. 

It didn’t take a genius to connect any dots.

One of them began to softly cry.

“You have three quintants,” Asshole said, voice soft over the sound of the sobs, “to build my gun. If you do not do so… well, it will be up to you how many will pay for your failure this time. I trust you understand?”

Understand?

Understand that she had just killed three people? That she was no doubt going to kill five more? 

Because she couldn’t build it. She couldn’t. _ Countless _people would die if she did. 

And yet…

Blurry eyes lifted to look at the five prisoners.

Five innocent people. Five people who who had families and loved ones and just wanted to go _ home. _

She was their only chance.

And yet…

“Paladin,” Asshole’s grip tightened painfully. “Do you understand?”

Understand that she had three days to save them? To save herself? And if she couldn’t come up with answers, couldn’t find the solution, then…

Then they would die.

And it would be her fault.

“Yes,” the word was a rasp. “Yes. I… I understand.”

She understood far too well.

Either she saved them in three days time...

Or she killed them all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, I love shock cuffs ;p
> 
> Thank you all so much to those who left comments on the previous chapter; I'm glad you are enjoying the fic. This chapter took a rather sharp dark turn and I'm not anywhere close to done ;) I'd love to hear from you what you thought about it. 
> 
> I have decided this fic, barring MLK Jr. Holiday, will be posting weekly on Mondays until completion, so I do hope to see you there :)
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are taking the time to read this fic **please** take the time to leave a comment. It's only a few moments (or a few minutes if you're feeling extremely kind) for you but I can guarantee you it took the author far far longer to write the chapter and hearing from readers means so much. Thank you.

Three days passed by in a blink.

It was too fast.

Far, far too fast.

Because Pidge?

She still had yet to come up with a real solution. 

It wasn’t for lack of trying but a lack of resources. She had only the items provided to her by the Galra to build the gun and they were always watching on camera.

Always.

She’d known that, of course, but it became obvious on the tail end of day two.

She also learned that apparently her cuffs could be activated from some measure of distance as they had done so when she’d pointed the screwdriver at herself, digging the pointed end into the soft flesh of her throat.

She hadn’t planned to kill herself. Not really.

At least…

At least she didn’t think so.

She also knew she was not thinking very clearly. Both waking hours and the fitful ones called sleep were plagued with the faces of the three Rebels, of dead eyes and blasted out heads and suddenly silenced screams.

She’d been sick more times than she could count. 

She had killed them. She hadn’t pulled the literal trigger but she sure as fuck had pulled the figurative one. 

And she was going to do it again.

Because she couldn’t give the Galra what they wanted. 

This gun? Just like how the original timeline for it had been a game to Asshole so to was its creation. This wasn’t what they wanted from her, not really. They hadn’t captured her for this purpose. 

She thought she knew now what it was.

The Galra Empire knew of her skills and she cursed herself for ever thinking leaving the laughing face of herself behind on servers had been a good idea because her taunt had backfired horribly once her face had gone viral thanks to the Voltron Show. They knew then who was responsible for their hacked security feeds, for uploaded viruses, for all of the data downloaded.

Stupid.

Stupid stupid  _ stupid.  _

And they dared to call her a genius.

She’d been captured because they wanted her to do something like that for them. She didn’t know what, exactly, and perhaps like the gun it would start small(er) and grow. Maybe they’d even find some horrible way to combine them. They’d of course make sure she got credit, let the universe know that the Green Paladin was responsible for all this death and destruction.

She couldn’t let it happen. 

She could not be the reason the universe fell once more under Galra rule when they were just starting to fight back. Could not be the reason  _ millions  _ were killed or hurt. Could not be the reason that hope was crushed.

And so…

So the common denominator was obvious.

She was the problem. Without her the Galra couldn’t get their gun, their hack or virus or whatever they actually wanted from her. Without her they couldn’t threaten individual lives as they had done.

But…

But…

She didn’t want to die.

She didn’t.

She had so much she still wanted to do. She was so  _ young.  _ And God, the idea of doing that to Matt, to her parents, to her friends turned family… 

God.

She understood sacrifice. 

But this was one she didn’t think she could make. 

It made the guilt and sickness coiling deep inside her flare that she was putting her own life above another’s. 

It was wrong.

It was right.

It was  _ wrong.  _

But…

And in any case, the choice was not hers to make.

For as soon as she’d pressed the point into her neck, not even hard enough to bruise, at least she didn’t think so, the shock cuffs had activated and she’d lost her grip on the tool and that was that.

They wouldn’t let her kill herself.

They wouldn’t let her escape that way.

Pidge was both grateful and repulsed and then horrified at it all.

She told herself that she couldn’t let herself lose hope.

Not in herself. Not in her team. Not in the universe.

But with every hour that passed she felt hope growing dimmer and dimmer.

She didn’t know what to do.

She’d made a list of points, of promises:

She could not build the gun.

She could not allow anyone else to die.

The two contradicted each other in the short-term, were accurate in the long-term. 

Smaller picture, bigger picture.

She hated this.

She hated this so much.

There was no way out.

She knew Asshole would never even give her a chance to try and attack him again and thanks to the camera and the clearly 24/7 observer she could not try and lay down any sort of trap.

But she could rig the gun.

That’s what she poured all of her efforts into over those three hazy days when she wasn’t throwing up or pacing her cell because sleep was dangerous for too many nightmares lurked there. 

She didn’t know what exactly she was hoping to accomplish but sitting idly by was not in her blood. Ultimately, in a best case scenario, Asshole would put the crystal in to power it, test it out inside her cell and it would blow up in his hands as she had made it so the bullets didn’t actually exit out of the barrel and the pressure should compound and result in a big, beautiful blast. 

Would it be enough to kill him? She wasn’t sure; the supplies they had given her for the bullets were a rather weak metal (which was actually a good thing and she had no plans to tell them that it wasn’t compact enough to do much damage; honestly more of a BB pellet) but she had loaded them all atop one another rather than in a round and so they should all go off simultaneously. 

Honestly she was rather proud of it as engineering was not her forte but she had in a matter of days built an entire gun.

She’d felt sick that she felt even a measure of satisfaction at her creation.

Only if it worked as she wanted, she told herself. Only then could she be proud of it.

Otherwise it was a sign of failure on all fronts.

But the goal was for Asshole to test it out, to hurt himself enough that Pidge could grab his keycard and escape…

And somehow avoid being shocked because if that happened…

So she amended her plan. She needed to steal both the keycard and whatever it was Asshole was using as the remote for her cuffs or even better yet maybe a key to get them the fuck off all while some other asshole watched on camera and hopefully didn’t activate them while she frisked him down. 

This was a plan that could go wrong on more fronts than right.

But it was all she had. 

Assuming she made it that far (and she couldn’t let herself think on the odds, she had to have that ridiculous optimism that she’d always rolled her eyes at because reality was too horrific to consider) she then needed to make for the hangar.

Ideally she would steal the ship, escape, and contact the castle who would send out the team to retrieve the prisoners and destroy Asshole and his goddamn base.

Less ideally but still good enough would be staying grounded but getting a transmission out, alerting them of her coordinates and sending in the cavalry to rescue both her and all of the prisoners and then still destroying the base. 

God.

She had no idea how this was going to work.

It probably wasn’t.

She shoved the thought away.

It had to. Somehow it--

The door hissed open and Asshole strode in in all of his asshole glory.

She could find one positive about the last three days; she hadn’t had to see his face during it. 

“My, my,” his yellow eyes met hers. “You look  _ exhausted,  _ little Green Paladin.”

“And you look as ugly as ever.”

“Still charming, I see. Well, let’s get to it. What do you have for me?”

Pidge shoved the gun across the table in answer, delighting in the way the metal screeched on the table and Asshole winced slightly.

Good.

He picked it up in his clawed hands, turning it this way and that. His lip curled up, revealing fangs. “Well, well. I am surprised and delighted at this development. I had thought we would need to go through a few more prisoners to sway you. Your heart is softer than you would like it to be, isn’t it?”

“At least I still have one.”

Asshole looked up at that. “And what good has having one done you? It makes you  _ weak,  _ Paladin. Don’t bother to deny otherwise.”

Pidge couldn’t.

It was true.

She might not be like Lance or even Allura, always wanting to help people for purely altruistic reasons, but she still cared.

Too much.

And the Galra knew it. For all her indifference to start, for all her snark and sass and cutting words, behind it all was a scared,  _ terrified,  _ human girl who didn’t know what to do. 

Asshole’s attention turned back to the gun, claws popping over the compartment on the back Pidge had created for a crystal.

She held her breath.

Moment of truth.

Asshole’s other hand went to a pouch on his belt and a few ticks later a crystal, glowing a soft pinkish-purple, was pinched between his thumb and index finger.

Pidge would bet the remote for her cuffs was in there too.

Noted.

Her attention though went back to Asshole as he deposited the crystal into the gun and shut the panel.

And then he put it in a holster on his opposite hip.

What?

No.

No, this wasn’t right.

Why wouldn’t he test it? He wasn’t the idiot he had played to start, no one in their right mind would take Pidge’s word it worked.

What was he planning?

The soft buzz and then pull as her cuffs activated -- not the shock element but the regular manacled tether -- jolted her from her thoughts.

“We going somewhere?” she asked, bracing her feet and trying not to look as panicked as she felt. 

The only time she left her cell was to view the other one. 

“I feel it’s only fair you get to see your hard work in action,” Asshole said. “And I have just the right group to act as our test subjects.”

No.

_ No.  _

But…

But  _ yes.  _

Because when Asshole tried to shoot them…

He was going to be the one on the receiving end.

Pidge played up her horror though for all it was worth.

“No,” she shook her head. “No. You, you can’t do that. I…” and inflect tears, cue a gasp and go, “I did what you w-wanted,” and oh, yes, the stutter was good.

She had nothing on Lance’s acting skills but she didn’t think she was completely wooden. 

She supposed she had the awful Voltron Show to thank for that.

Asshole chuckled. “If you think some tears are going to stop this you are sadly mistaken, little Paladin.”

Pidge only wobbled her lip. 

Yes.

Selling it. 

She still protested leaving the room. 

She had to keep up appearances after all. 

The shocking pain that flooded her veins and the resulting drag by her cuffed hands via a sentry was completely worth it.

Asshole was growing confident, cocky, she could sense it as she continued try and plead for him not to hurt them. He would go into the room, aim the gun at one of the prisoners and it would explode. If she was lucky it would kill him.

In any case it would hurt him and so long as the prisoners weren’t all lambs for the slaughter they’d get up, they’d  _ fight,  _ as the sentries acting as executioners wouldn’t act without command and the command staff should have just been blown the fuck up. 

The prisoners would be the main concern so while they were hopefully causing some sort of distraction Pidge could rush the door panel, the one in this cell having a keypad on the inside, hack it open, rescue the prisoners, and they could all hightail it to the hangar. 

It probably wouldn’t go quite that smoothly but she could hope. And even eliminating Asshole would be a gamechanger for the good. 

They reached the cell a couple minutes later, for which Pidge was grateful for as her arms were  _ screaming  _ at her from the angle the sentry was dragging her and she was going to need those to not be completely useless for her escape.

They didn’t go inside.

Instead the sentry holding Pidge dropped her arms and her  _ oof  _ as her upper back hit the floor was not exaggerated. 

And to her horror she watched as the sentry instead held out a hand and Asshole placed her gun into it.

What…

What was going on?

Asshole was supposed to go try and shoot a prisoner.

“In we go now,” Asshole said cheerfully, bending down and grabbing her by her hair and dragging her forward the last couple feet. “We don’t want to miss the show.”

“What, what are you talking about?” and that waver hadn’t been intentional either as Asshole pulled her to her feet by her hair and goddamnit that fucking  _ hurt.  _

Asshole only smiled. 

And as much as she didn’t want to look Pidge couldn’t avoid the wall-length window and the prisoners beyond it. It was the same setup as last time, all five kneeling with a sentry and blaster combination aimed at their heads, and just like before the prisoners were all reacting to their situation in different ways. Two were crying, loudly, and shaking. One, the biggest of the bunch, was clearly straining to move but there were two sentries on her to keep her pinned. Another was silent, eyes staring blankly forward while the fifth had his eyes closed and almost looked to be sleeping. 

The cell door opened and the sentry with the gun walked in. 

Pidge tried not to swallow audibly.

It could still work, at least as a distraction. When the sentry blew up she would lunge for Asshole’s pouch and grab the remote. She didn’t know how she was supposed to fight a Galran with nearly three feet on her and protected by armor but she damn well was going to figure it out. His blaster on his other hip could be her ticket out of here.

Maybe this was going to work out for the better.

And then Asshole spoke.

His voice was both right next to her and echoing from inside the chamber and dread hit full force.

This…

This was not good.

“Prisoners,” Asshole addressed, “my name is Commander Lozan. And I am here to offer you your freedom.”

Five heads lifted.

Pidge’s stomach dropped.

“All of you were to be Arena fodder,” Asshole continued, “but clearly you are not there… yet. This is your one chance to avoid being such. What I need from you is one volunteer who feels confident in their ability to shoot a gun. If you are able to strike the target provided I will let  _ all  _ of you go free.”

Oh God.

Oh God oh God oh God. 

One of the prisoners was going to shoot the gun.

If she said nothing they would get hurt, maybe die (probably die).

If she said something Asshole would know she had tried to deceive him.

He could (would) kill them all.

Oh God.

What did she do?

“Take a moment to decide,” Asshole said. “But quickly now.”

There was a murmur of conversation too low for them to pick up as the prisoners glanced at one another.

Hope was etched into their faces.

Pidge wanted to throw up.

The Galra were not merciful. This was all a ploy, a game, and they were falling for it.

She had to stop this.

She didn’t know how.

The smallest figure, a willowy tree looking alien with dark hair piled high on her head and the one that had been staring blankly, announced in a soft voice that she would take the shot. 

Pidge knew without a doubt her rigged gun would either kill her or very, very badly hurt her. It had been designed to try and take out Asshole after all.

God.

The sentry behind her released its grip and she rose on shaking legs to accept the gun.

No.

No.

_ No. _

“No,” Pidge whispered it aloud.

Asshole smiled.

He instructed the alien to walk back thirty paces.

“No,” Pidge said it again, breathy and high. She turned to look up at Asshole. “Stop.”

Asshole instructed her she had one shot to hit the sentry across the room. On his count.

“Asshole, stop,” Pidge jerked her shoulder under his one-handed grip.

He ignored her.

“Three…”

The alien raised the gun in front of her.

“Stop,” Pidge pleaded.

“Two…”

“I rigged it!” she blurted it out. “It’s going to explode. Please, please, don’t--”

His smile turned into a smirk.

“And one.”

Pidge knew she would never forget the scream that followed.

She might have screamed herself, she wasn’t quite sure.

Everything was moving slowly.

Hazy.

The alien was staggering back, her entire front blackened and burnt.

Her arms were missing.

Gone.

Stumps just past her elbows.

She fell.

Moaned.

Was still alive.

God.

God God God.

And Asshole…

Laughed.

Long and loud.

“Foolish little Paladin,” he chuckled, giving her shoulder a squeeze. “You think too much of yourself.”

Without his grip Pidge would have fallen, her legs buckling regardless.

No.

She had just…

The alien girl gave another moan, a whimper, and twitched.

The other prisoners were either crying or silent with horror.

God.

“You failed me once again,” Asshole said. “And you know the consequences. Now tell me, which one shall die because of you today?”

Pidge shook.

She couldn’t…

“Choose quickly, little Paladin. Or…”

Or he would.

And he would kill them all.

God.

God she had to pick someone to die.

The choice was obvious. 

She was in so much pain.

Death would be a mercy. 

The reason tasted like bile and ash.

“All right, it looks like--”

“Her,” Pidge breathed out the word

She felt something inside her break.

She had just sentenced someone to death.

“Her…?” Asshole prompted.

Pidge jerked her chin in the direction of the fallen alien. “Her. The, the one who… who…” she swallowed. “Who fired the gun.”

“A logical choice,” Asshole agreed.

Revulsion threatened to expel out of her throat at how  _ pleased  _ he sounded.

The sentry who had delivered the gun clanked over to the fallen alien, still moaning pitifully.

Pidge forced herself to watch.

She deserved whatever nightmare came from it.

A second later it was over.

Pidge let out a shuddering breath at the silence now. 

At least she wasn’t hurting anymore. At least--

“Now choose another.”

Pidge’s head jerked up.

What?

No.

No, he couldn’t be--

“Choose another,” Asshole said. 

“Why?” she choked out instead.

She was afraid to say no, afraid he would take that as refusal and…

“You just wasted three more days of my precious time. You will therefore kill three people. And should you elect not to… well…”

Then it would be all five.

She could spare the lives of two people… by killing three.

“You’ll…” she swallowed. “You’ll let them go?”

“But of course,” Asshole said.

His words sounded too smooth, too honeyed.

Pidge waited for the rest.

“They will return to where they were supposed to be all this time.”

The Arena.

Not freedom.

Not back  _ home.  _

One prison for another.

She thought of Shiro then. Missing limb. So, so many scars and so many not visible. She saw him on her own late nights, pacing the halls, shirt soaked with sweat and a wild, terrified look to his eyes. He’d been forced to fight, forced to kill, forced to hurt and maim and destroy to remain alive until the next fight. He had suffered so much.

He suffered now.

And he had been a  _ favorite.  _

She was being asked to kill and condemn and she wasn’t sure which fate was worse.

She could refuse. Asshole would kill all four remaining and none would have to suffer the Arena.

Or she killed two, sent two onwards and maybe, maybe they survived. Maybe they escaped. Maybe maybe maybe.

But it wasn’t her call to make, any of it. She shouldn’t be playing God, shouldn’t be deciding people’s lives like this.

But if she didn’t…

Then she had decided for them already.

A sob was building in her chest, a pulsing wave of agony that she wished would drown her. 

“Choose, Paladin. Or forfeit your one chance to spare a few of their pathetic lives.”

Pidge dragged her eyes back to the prisoners.

Bile tickled her tongue as she looked them over.

Evaluated.

The big alien that needed two sentries to pin her down… she looked able to fight. She could make it in the Arena.

She had a chance.

The one next to her was sobbing, loudly. She was dainty, small.

She would be massacred there.

The one next to her was crying too, his cheeks blotted.He looked sort of like a puffer fish but without any spikes, just the width. She didn’t know if he would last.

The last one, the one that almost looked like he was sleeping, had his eyes closed again. He was still.

He’d accepted his fate.

He also had hands the size of Hunk’s head and shimmering, hard-looking scales all over his head that stretched down to his tail, lying on the ground behind him.

Defensive.

He had a chance. 

Logically, statistically, they had the best chance. 

The best chance to suffer for longer, to hurt more.

But they would be  _ alive.  _

It was more than they would get here. 

“The… the…” Pidge felt her throat closing up. 

How could she do this?

How could she call herself a Paladin?

A hero?

She was a  _ monster.  _

She was picking people based on physical attributes. By that logic  _ she  _ would be dead if she was in that line up.

She was killing someone who could be just like her; a brilliant mind, a tactician. 

God.

“Last chance, Paladin. Speak.”

“The two… the two…”

God.

No.

She had to.

“...in the m-middle.”

God. 

Two guns went off.

Two aliens fell forward.

Two remained kneeling. 

Alive.

Pidge felt like she’d killed them anyway.

Asshole bent down, hands coming to clasp both of her shoulders from behind. “Excellent,” he purred, breath fluttering her hair. “Excellent job.”

Pidge couldn’t contain the sob.

She’d just…

She’d just…

“And now--”

She cut him off, the words spilling from her lips, high and wavering but being powered by the rage she was letting take over from the anguish because she could not focus on that right now, not here.

“I will kill you.”

They were not a threat.

They were a promise.

She would kill him. 

Somehow. 

And he would never hurt another person again.

Asshole didn’t seem concerned, his laugh warming the back of her neck.

“I would love to see you try.”

“I will kill you,” she repeated it, voice pitched lower into a growl, letting the anger warm her from the numbness of the bodies beyond the glass. “You… you  _ monster.”  _

“Oh, little Paladin.” His lips brushed against her ear. “It takes one to know one.”

Pidge shuddered.

No.

No that wasn’t…

“You may hate me,” he whispered. “But we both know who you hate the most.”

And just like that the rage went out with a whoosh of cold horror.

Pidge choked once more on a sob.

She did hate him. 

But the one she hated most right now? The one that made her sick and disgusted and horrified?

That would be herself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Looks like this fic got a little too dark for a lot of you, huh? ^^; Lost over half of the audience. Thanks so much to those of you sticking around, I really love hearing from you and am glad you're enjoying the fic ♥ It is certainly darker in a way than most of my fics, but whenever you enter a morality debate and it isn't necessarily our character whumped and dying from injuries type of morality... it's gonna lean that way. But just remember the title of this fic because Pidge is not someone who gives up ♥
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic, please please do leave a comment below detailing what you liked about it (the small details make my day!) Emotional support and validation is super important and appreciated and your comments mean the world. **_Please_ don’t just read and run! Leave a comment! Thank you!**


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours**, if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. Thank you to those who do so, it means a lot ♥

Pidge didn’t remember walking back to her cell.

She must have done so though as she was lying on her bed now, flimsy pillow pressed into her stomach, blanket over her head, and wishing she could disappear so easily.

She couldn’t even cry.

Her tears wouldn’t come.

So she dug her nails as hard as she could into her palms.

If she couldn’t cry then she would bleed.

The pain didn’t help.

She didn’t even draw any blood, her nails blunted from chewing and chipping them on parts. 

Failure.

Just like everything she did.

She’d failed those aliens.

She’d…

She’d failed herself.

There was no need to keep up pretenses anymore.

She’d failed.

The Galra had won.

They might not have gotten their gun or codes or whatever the hell they wanted from her. 

But they had gotten her to play the game.

To break.

Because she was broken.

Something was broken inside of her.

She could feel it. A sharp, stabbing, grating feeling every time she breathed.

Breathed where others couldn’t.

Because she’d killed them.

And she couldn’t fix it.

Then.

Or now.

Asshole had brought her back to her cell without announcing a new project, without threatening another group of aliens.

But she knew it was coming.

She knew what was going to happen.

Knowledge was not power.

It was just pain.

She pressed her face into the pillow.

Could she suffocate herself?

Would they realize it under the blanket?

She took a gasping, heaving breath a few seconds later as she pulled the pillow away.

She couldn’t do it.

Despite all she had done…

She couldn’t do it.

She didn’t want to die. 

She just…

Just…

She didn’t know. 

Where was her team? Her  _ family?  _ Why hadn’t they come for her yet?

Would they even want her back now?

She pinched herself for that last thought.

And then pinched herself again for being so… so  _ stupid.  _

Of course they would.

Because they knew this wasn’t her fault.

_ She  _ knew it wasn’t her fault.

Pidge took a shuddering breath, held it, and let it out.

Not her fault.

She repeated it.

“It’s not my fault.”

The words were barely audible.

She said it again, still quiet but firmer.

“It’s not my fault.”

And what Asshole had claimed her to be…

That wasn’t true either.

He was.

He was the monster.

She was not.

She had to say it. 

The words hesitated on her tongue.

She forced them out.

“I’m… I’m not a monster.”

She shuddered out another breath.

She wasn’t a monster.

She wasn’t.

The Galra were.

This was a, a  _ game  _ to them. They toyed with people’s lives. This was just a different version of the Arena, a different way to pull strings and watch people dance.

There was no way not to play.

But that didn’t mean she had to accept the rules. 

She didn’t have to follow the expectations.

They expected her to break. 

Well…

She refused. 

She couldn’t -- wouldn’t -- allow herself to fall into that hole.

She took another breath.

Bad things were going to happen.

People were going to die.

But it was not her fault. 

And she couldn’t control the game from in here, but she could refuse to play the extended version.

She would not build them a weapon. She would not create a virus. She would not code or hack or do  _ anything  _ for them.

And to all the aliens who they tried to use against her to do so…

She was sorry.

She was so sorry.

She would never stop being sorry.

But she had to be pragmatic. Logical. That’s who she was.

It still hurt.

She faintly wondered what someone like Lance would think.

But he wasn’t her. He wasn’t in this situation. 

And the universe could not afford for her to give into the Galra’s demands.

No matter what the cost.

No matter who they put before her.

Prisoners.

Rebels.

Civilians.

She swallowed thickly then.

Children.

God.

God she hoped they… they wouldn’t stoop that low.

Please don’t let them do that.

She…

Her hands tightened on the pillow.

She didn’t know if her resolve could hold if they put kids in front of her. 

But it would have to. Because if she caved for those ones then all the others across the universe would be targets.

It wouldn’t stop.

The Galra had no shortage of aliens to put before her. 

The only way out of this was either an escape or a rescue.

The former was at a low low probability, if Pidge were generous she might say two percent. If she didn’t have the goddamn shock cuffs on she’d up to to about fifteen but even then her resources were nearly non-existent, she was watched all the time and any time she left her room there was a full contingent of sentries. 

She could no longer count on any sort of distraction from a rigged weapon and any attempts to attack from within her cell would be stopped by the cuffs.

She needed a rescue.

But it had been, by her count and she felt it was fairly accurate, ten days now and no sign of one. She’d already concluded though that she would be nearly impossible to track and she just… didn’t know  _ how  _ they would find her. 

Was this how Shiro had felt? Trapped in the Arena, forced experimentation under Haggar, and all alone? 

No.

She shook her head.

He had to have felt  _ worse.  _ She knew her team was out there. She knew the Rebels and the Blades would be looking too. All of their allies. 

Shiro had had no one. Matt and her dad… they’d been prisoners too, weaker than Shiro and Matt had been… she didn’t like to think about the measures Shiro had taken to make sure her brother lived. She was grateful, so grateful, but she’d caught sight of the scar and it…

It looked like it had hurt. So so much.

But Shiro hadn’t had allies. Earth had abandoned him. It was just him and had it not been for a sympathetic Blade member, who at the time would have had no idea he’d just freed the future Black Paladin… Shiro would either still be in the Arena or he would be dead. 

Or, a darker part of her mind whispered, he would be fighting for the Empire. Either under some memory wipe of Haggar’s or even more terrifying so broken down, so beaten, he had done as they asked if only to spare himself all the pain and horror of before.

She could not let that be her.

She could not break.

Shiro had lasted for a  _ year  _ in the Arena. He hadn’t emerged unscathed, God no, but he had come out of it still himself. Even though…

Even though he’d had to kill people. Hurt people. Probably a lot of people just like him. He’d done it and none of them looked down upon him because of it because they  _ knew  _ he hadn’t had a choice.

Just like her.

The Galra had not broken Shiro, not like that.

They would not break her.

Be it a week, a month, God, a  _ year,  _ she would not break. She would not give up hope.

Her team was coming for her and she believed that with all of her heart.

Something warm was filling her chest and she welcomed it, letting it soothe the grating pain from self-inflicted guilt. 

They would come for her.

She let out a soft sigh and the air was reflected back, gross and sticky under the blanket.

Pidge pushed it down, cooler air tickling her nose and she let out another breath.

They would come for her.

Inhale.

She was going to be okay.

Exhale.

They would come for her.

Inhale.

None of this was her fault.

Exhale.

They would come for her.

Inhale.

She was not a monster. 

Exhale. 

They would come for her.

She repeated her internal mantra with every breath, reassuring herself on all fronts. Her heart stopped its thudding, her trembles ceased and her stomach stopped churning.

Pidge remained curled up on the bed, facing the blank wall rather than her cell turned workshop, and tried to prepare herself for what came next.

The fact Asshole had brought her back here without parading more prisoners in front of her or a new project meant that for at least tonight she could rest without knowing she was about to get someone killed.

She wondered what the next one would be.

The gun again?

Or something closer to what they’d wanted her to likely do in the first place?

It could go either way. She’d broken down for a while there and Asshole no doubt thought she was going to be easy to control now.

Well, he was wrong.

So fucking wrong.

And he was going to pay.

She guaranteed it. No matter what happened in her rescue (or very low percentage escape) she knew one thing for certain.

He was going to die.

She hadn’t been able to save the aliens that  _ he,  _ not her, had killed but she could damn well avenge them. She could get justice.

And then she was going to put every bit of herself into ridding the universe of the Galra Empire once and for all. She would do everything and anything to make sure that no one ever fell prey to their sick games again.

And her first step?

She was going to take out the Arena.

It had never really been brought up before as Shiro (understandably) avoided the topic like the plague and the others followed his lead. The Galra Empire and their goal was monstrous enough, but the idea of a colosseum where they forced prisoners to fight and kill for entertainment?

That was another level of hell.

And Pidge would no longer stand for it.

No more ignoring it, no more focusing on other more “attainable” goals. They would take out the Arena, free the prisoners, and begin a new chapter in their quest to save the universe from the Galra’s tyranny. 

Pidge knew they couldn’t save everyone, not yet.

But they could do that.

And she would gladly lead the charge. 

She let that thought both fuel and comfort her as the hours passed, no arrival of dinner not that she could eat it anyway.

She must have fallen asleep at some point as she startled awake to the sound of heavy footsteps entering her room and she jerked to a sit on the bed, just in time as Asshole was coming around her table and towards her.

“What?” she snapped, trying to hide her disorientation at being both awake and his proximity, not even two feet from her. 

Asshole actually looked surprised by her vehemence and Pidge felt something like pride fill her. He had expected her still be the broken little girl from yesterday.

She wouldn’t be so easy to break.

Before he could say anything Pidge rolled on.

“Waking up to your ugly face is not the way I want to start my day. So you, go,” she flapped a hand towards the door, “and come back never.”

“Someone is… animated this morning,” Asshole said, tilting his head.

“Pissed is more accurate but sure, whatever makes you feel better. Now go,” she pointed this time. “Out of my room.”

His amusement was fading. “Paladin--”

“Out,” she ordered. “You disgusting piece of--”

The slap took her by surprise. 

It had been days since he’d raised a hand to her, not since he showed his true colors. 

Her cheek  _ stung  _ but she flipped right back around, narrowing her eyes on his own. 

“Enough,” he hissed. 

“Or what?” Pidge challenged. “You gonna kill me?” 

Her wrists lit up a moment later.

Oh.

That was a good answer.

She managed to stay on the bed, even maintain her sit, as her body spasmed and she curled up over her hands as though that could relieve the pain, her jaw clenched and scream locked inside. 

She was done screaming and crying for him.

No more.

“So… so creative,” she panted as the energy cut off. “That all, all you got?”

“I am happy to do this all day,” he said as she hunched over once more as energy flooded through her hands and arms. 

Pidge grit her teeth.

Good.

Let him torture her all day. 

She was fine with that.

“Alas, we wouldn’t want to leave our current guest hanging.”

Guest.

Asshole already had another prisoner.

Just one though.

Who?

Hanging?

Did he mean literally like being choked? By their arms? 

Why the change?

What did they want from her now?

Asshole released her from the torture and she remained hunched over, drawing in ragged breaths.

She was tempted to antagonize him again, keep his attention her, but if someone was actually choking…

What a horrible, horrible way to go. 

At least the gun blasts were quick.

Was this their new strategy then? No more quick deaths, no more prisoners remaining unharmed in the interim while she ‘worked’ on whatever they wanted from her that time?

God.

That was…

She swallowed thickly, hoping it was disguised still from the shocks.

She couldn’t let them see how much the thought affected her.

She couldn’t let it affect her.

She’d made her choice.

But to watch someone be  _ tortured  _ in front of her…

God.

Was there anything she could even do about it?

Probably not, other than to give them what they wanted and she could not do that.

No matter what.

“Our current guest is someone very…  _ special,”  _ Asshole continued. “As such, so is your task.”

“I won’t do it,” Pidge rasped, flicking her eyes up and glaring at the smug face looking back. 

“We’ll see,” he smiled.

She hated his smiles.

“This assignment should be fairly easy for you,” he continued. “I wish for you to design a virus that will infect any data devices not coded with a specific signature, which you will of course design as well, and wipe out the entire mainframe when reuploaded.”

Pidge didn’t need to be a genius to know who the Galra hoped to attack with this virus.

The Blades.

The Blades were nearly the sole source of information from within the Galra Empire and were invaluable, especially with a two-fronted battle between the Empire and Lotor. If they lost not only their source of data but were to then infect the Blades’ databases… 

But…

But what if she embedded a code of her own? Rather than an infection she could send a message, she could--

“Don’t be getting any ideas,” Asshole interrupted her thoughts. “We will of course be testing all parts of your design and should there be something amiss… well, then more will just have to pay the price.”

And the question then was:

How many people was Pidge willing to kill in an attempt to sneak something past the Galra?

The answer was easy.

None.

She’d acknowledged that death would be inevitable but to willingly seek it out?

No.

Never.

She wouldn’t hurt people like that.

And even if she could sneak something by it would have to be so small, so unobtrusive that it was highly unlikely a Blade member would spot it either, especially if they were in the process of having everything on their systems wiped.

God fucking damn it.

Pidge remained silent.

Anything she said would just be additional fuel for the fire. 

“Now,” Asshole straightened. “It’s time we go meet our guest and I can give you the other particulars of your assignment. You see, this guest is so special to us… we’d like for this guest to stay with us for a little longer.”

So it would be torture.

Pidge faintly wondered who it was. 

Asshole kept saying special which would imply some distinction.

They…

They didn’t know about Matt, right?

Her stomach flopped at the idea. 

God no.

God, he had to be  _ safe.  _

Or… or her dad?

Could it be her dad? 

They had no idea where he was after all. Could they have found the relation?

No, no, she reassured herself. No. She was only known as “Pidge” here, no last name. And as powerful as Asshole’s connections seemed to be she doubted even he would be allowed to take a brilliant scientist like her father and torture him for the sheer sake of getting Pidge to comply.

Right?

Right. Because that was the whole reason they weren’t actively hurting her. Her mind was too valuable.

Her dad’s was too.

Matt should also fall into that category. And also they should again not know of any relation; they’d kept their reunion pretty mum.

She let out a tiny breath.

Okay, so not them.

And if it had been…

God. 

She didn’t even know.

Not worth thinking about though since it wasn’t them.

Maybe it was a leader of a planet, perhaps? Someone important to the Coalition? 

Did one person’s life hold more value than another’s?

Who was she to make that call?

She couldn’t.

She had to treat everyone the same. Be they a Coalition leader, an innocent civilian or a prisoner pulled from the Arena. It was the only way she was going to make it through this with even part of her sanity intact. 

No matter who it was.

“Let’s go say hello to our special guest now,” Asshole said, gesturing with his hand for Pidge to head for the door, in the same instant activating her cuffs and her wrists being forced to connect in front of her. 

She had two choices now: continue to resist and ultimately end up shocked and carried or walk under her own power.

She would do the latter but she would not go meekly.

Pidge lifted her chin, not that her height was anything to brag about, and slid off the metal slab, keeping her eyes narrowed on Asshole the entire time.

He only chuckled and gestured for her to walk in front of him.

She bit back her retort of “ladies first,” and did so, but made sure to keep her shoulders back and head high and told herself the fact he needed her in front of him was because he was scared to have her behind. 

Damn right.

The door to her cell opened at Asshole’s command and she stepped into the hallway, greeted once more by a contingent of sentries. 

She followed the sentries down the same hallway, a corridor that she  _ knew  _ branched towards the hangars mocking her as she went by.

They bypassed the door.

Pidge realized a tick later they were headed for the other door, the one that led into the cell where the prisoners had been contained. 

Ice flooded her stomach.

They were going to have her meet the prisoner.

Let them see, let them  _ know,  _ who was going to be the reason behind their pain and ultimately their death.

God.

Pidge squared her shoulders.

No matter what she could not break.

She could not give in.

Her resolve had to hold no matter who it was they had in there.

Asshole let out another soft, amused chuckle behind her, as if anticipating her reaction.

Pidge refused to give him one. 

He opened the door with a soft hiss, revealing a figure hanging from his wrists in the cell.

And Pidge felt all of that resolve crumble away.

No.

It couldn’t be.

It was.

Horrified amethyst eyes met hers as Pidge trembled in the doorway.

Because the figure, the  _ prisoner,  _ the one they were going to  _ hurt  _ and then  _ kill  _ because of  _ her  _ was…

Was…

Was Keith. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun dun _DunNnNnNnNn!_   
But even more important (I think) than Keith's arrival is Pidge's show of inner strength. At that point she has nothing to go on but she pulls herself together and resolves to do what she must to protect the universe and just gonna give her a round of applause. She's a fighter and she doesn't give up ♥
> 
> If you are enjoying the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours**, if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. Thank you to those who do so, it means a lot ♥


	5. Five

She kept his name locked inside even though she could feel it trying to burst forth.

Maybe…

Maybe Asshole only knew Keith was a Blade and _ that _was what made him special. Not the fact he was a former (still was, in her mind) Paladin of Voltron. Not that he knew Pidge.

Not that…

That she considered him a part of her space family. 

God.

This was…

Keith didn’t say anything either, although that was probably mostly due to the strip of cloth wedged inside his mouth and tied behind his head. 

She could see two tiny rivulets of blood where it had already rubbed raw the corners of his mouth and there was a blossoming bruise on his right cheek.

Not to mention the fact he was hanging _ by his wrists _as his toes barely skimmed the floor, ankles shackled to prevent him from kicking out, and even though his Blade uniform was dark and hid all of his skin save his face and neck she could see the way his arms were straining and the furrow in his brow that he could not hide from the position.

God.

God.

This was…

“What do you think?” 

She had nearly forgotten Asshole was there but his presence was suddenly looming and invasive behind her.

“Am I supposed to know who this is?” she asked, trying to keep her voice abrasive to both hide the tremor in it and try to throw off any connection.

They couldn’t know.

They couldn’t.

“You mean you do not know him?” Asshole strode past her into the room right for Keith, clearly trusting the sentries crowded behind Pidge to keep her in check (and she hated that he was right), and reaching out a hand towards him.

Pidge twitched as Asshole gripped Keith’s chin and forced him to look up, the chains clinking quietly as Keith’s body jerked at the new angle, and then directed Keith’s face towards her.

“Take a look, little Paladin,” he sneered. “Do you truly not recognize your old teammate?”

God.

He knew.

_ How? _

Keith was reckless, sure, but he was no idiot. He wouldn’t have given up her name or their connection; he would have been a faceless Blade member to them. 

He _ had _to be. 

“I’ve never seen him in my life,” she answered instead.

“I see.”

He didn’t believe her.

Pidge resisted the urge to blurt it out again. The more one protested, the more embellishments to a story, the more disbelieving it was. 

“So then you would not offer any protest if I were to kill him here and now then, correct?” Asshole withdrew his gun and pressed it against Keith’s forehead.

Pidge was not imagining the brief flicker of fear in purple eyes.

God.

“What happened to him being your special prisoner?” Pidge managed to ask. 

“A Blade of Marmora is nothing special insofar the fact they are _blood_ _traitors_,” and Asshole’s grip still on Keith’s chin, claws growing red as they pierced skin, “and ridding the universe of one more appeals greatly to me.”

The gun glowed hot.

Keith winced as purple light spread over his forehead.

God.

Asshole was bluffing her, just like the first time.

Except that she knew without a doubt he would kill Keith.

He’d kill anyone and not bat an eye.

And Keith…

Keith was not a faceless, nameless, person to her.

He…

“Prisoners are not hard to come by,” Asshole continued. “And we have all the time in the world, don’t we, little Paladin? I shall merely fetch another one and we can try this again.”

The gun whined.

Keith jerked in the restraints, a muffled curse growled through the gag.

Asshole’s finger caressed the trigger.

Waiting.

She saw the moment he was done doing so.

And she couldn’t remain quiet any longer.

“Wait,” she made a shaky step into the cell. 

Asshole did not remove the gun.

“Who is he?” came the question.

“A Blade.”

The gun whined again.

“Try again, little Paladin.”

“He is,” she insisted, knowing full well he could hear the desperate tinge her words were taking on.

Keith’s groan was audible even with the gag as the gun, fully charged and heated, was pressed harder into his head. 

“Last chance. _ Who is he?” _

She could tell he was done asking and playing. If she didn’t give him the answer he wanted then Keith…

Keith was going to die.

She swallowed thickly.

His name was barely a breath.

“Keith.”

“I did not catch that.”

“Keith,” she said it louder.

“And who is Keith to you?”

Pidge shifted her gaze from Asshole’s cruel yellow to Keith’s sharp purple, which were filled with a mixture of fear and anger and pain.

“A… A friend."

Asshole lowered the gun.

Pidge let out a breat--

_ Bang! _

The gunshot had her jumping and Keith _ screamed, _head tipping back even in Asshole’s grip, as the laser cut through his right thigh, and somehow hearing it muffled and vibrating in his throat was more horrifying than the sound would be normally.

Pidge froze, heart pounding in her ears.

“A taste,” Asshole said, finally, _ finally _releasing Keith from his hold and coming back towards Pidge, “of what is going to happen now.”

Pidge resisted the urge to step back as Asshole loomed over her.

“You will design the virus I requested. You may take as long as you need to do so. But,” his grin sharpened, “for every two varga that I do not have my prize Keith here will be hurt. And you, my little Paladin, will do it.”

He extended a hand to the right and Pidge had no choice but to follow it to where a table sat against the wall full of what she could only call torture instruments: knives and whips and oh God, was that a _ brand _? 

“You will hurt him until I say stop,” Asshole continued. “And should you refuse to do so or fail to complete the torture at a level I deem acceptable then I will kill him. And I will _ greatly _enjoy doing so.”

Pidge’s eyes flicked from the table to Keith, who was looking at her with something she couldn’t quite pin down.

“You will work inside here,” Asshole spoke again. “I will have all of your items brought along shortly. You will be provided a communication device, but believe me when I say there is no use trying to send out a message; this entire cell is enforced with signal disruptors. Do we have an understanding?”

“I understand you’re a sick asshole,” Pidge snarled, hands fisted in front of her. “You--”

Keith’s muffled screams cut her off and her gaze flew to him where he was spasming in his restraints.

“Oh, I should also mention,” Asshole smirked, “every time you open that filthy little mouth of yours and it spews words I do not like it will be your precious Keith who is punished for it.”

Pidge’s jaw clamped shut with a sharp snap.

God.

Keith’s cries stopped.

“Much better,” Asshole smiled down at her. “I just needed to find the _ right _prisoner to entice you, little Paladin. The Paladins of Voltron are of course a bit hard to come by a second time, even for one such as myself. But a Paladin turned Blade? Whose current organization operates underneath the concept of the mission before the man? Well, that is easy enough.”

“How?” Pidge asked.

Asshole understood the question.

To her surprise he answered it.

“Your current team may be known to the universe from the Voltron Show, but your faces have appeared on our cameras many times before. Not only that… so have your weapons. And this one,” Asshole inclined his head towards Keith, “wielded both an Altean sword and a luxite blade.”

Which of course any Galran would know was a material that only responded to their biology (Pidge had stopped asking _ how _such a thing was even possible long ago) and that meant…

That meant they’d known for a long while that one of the Paladins was Galran.

God. 

They’d really, _ really _underestimated the Galra Empire.

“When the Red Paladin stopped appearing and instead Princess Allura appeared, taking on the moniker of ‘Keith’ in your little shows, well, it was clear what had happened. Keith, the former Red Paladin of Voltron, had joined that band of blood traitors.

“Myself and other members of the intelligence division found this development to be… exciting,” and Asshole’s eyes flashed with something dark and amused and Pidge couldn’t even find satisfaction in learning another tidbit about Asshole. “We had a movement profile from previous security footage and it was only a matter of running it and diagnosing similar physical builds and movement patterns that even a Blade’s mask could not hide. Imagine my delight when we had a match but a few varga ago. And best yet?” Asshole’s smirk widened. “Keith and his team were looking for _ you. _

“The rest are all dead, of course,” Asshole waved a flippant hand, “but I made sure to have Keith brought specially here for you. Wasn’t that so very kind of me?”

Pidge didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Keith had been captured because he’d been looking for _ her_. Other Blades had been killed looking for _ her. _

And now she was either supposed to, to _ torture, _Keith and if she didn’t… he would be killed. 

Her mantra of “not her fault” was starting to sound incredibly hollow. 

Even knowing that it was nothing they could have prevented, knowing that the Galra were aware of Keith’s presence this entire time…

God.

He never should have left.

_ They _should never have let him go.

Whatever issues they’d been having with the Lions to Paladins count, with Shiro’s new backseat leadership and troubles connecting with the Black Lion, with, with _ everything, _Keith should never have left. 

She couldn’t say he’d have been safe -- look at her -- but, but he wouldn’t have been out there with a team of Blades that she already knew likely wouldn’t be looked after.

The mission before the man. 

They’d be marked for dead and that would be that. 

And they would never know what had happened. All they would know was that their friend was _ dead _and they hadn’t been there to save him.

God.

What was _ wrong _with all of them?

Pidge supposed it didn’t matter right now. Facts were facts and the fact of the matter was Keith had been captured, was being used against her and she…

She didn’t know what to do.

She couldn’t make the virus.

She couldn’t let Keith die.

And God, what a hypocrite she was. A few minutes ago she was telling herself that no matter who it was no life was above another.

What a fucking liar.

What a motherfucking lying hypocrite she was. 

And the no time limit…

Well, it meant a few things. One; more time for a rescue but she was starting to doubt that it was going to happen, or at least happen soon (enough). Two; Keith was at least not in danger of dying (unless he died from wounds and she didn’t even want to think about that). Three; Well, three was that Keith was going to be in a lot of pain for a long time because she while she would not let him die she could not design the virus so she would be torturing him instead.

God.

She sounded like a _ monster. _

“Any questions?” Asshole asked, as though he cared.

Pidge did have one though as she glanced again at Keith that she prayed might yield a positive response.

“Can you lower his chains?” she kept her voice even. “I… I can’t reach him for…” she jerked her chin in the direction of the torture implements.

Technically, she could. Sort of. But on a good day she came up to Keith’s shoulder and with the extra height from the ceiling hook she was even with his armpit and unless they only wanted her hurting him from about the waist down he was inaccessible.

But more than that, and the reason Asshole would undoubtedly see through, was that Keith was in _ pain _being hung like that and it was only going to get worse and worse. It was a small mercy in the grand scheme of things but… 

But anything was better than nothing.

“Hmm,” Asshole tapped his finger against his lips. “An interesting request. But since you asked so nicely I shall grant it for you. Do not say I am not kind, little Paladin.”

Pidge refrained from commenting on that out of concern for Keith as he would be the one to suffer for it.

This was so messed up.

Asshole retrieved what looked like a small remote from his holster pouch and a second later there was the whir of a motor. Keith’s feet were flush on the floor a tick later.

And then his right leg was buckling beneath him and he let out a muffled yell as the action jerked on the chain as he lost his balance.

Right.

He’d been shot.

But within a second he had his leg back underneath him, the entire limb trembling.

Pidge didn’t dare ask for Asshole to lower it anymore, let Keith actually kneel, perhaps, in case he wrenched it back up. 

She could see the amusement dancing in his eyes waiting for her to do such a thing and so she pressed her lips together.

“I am releasing your cuffs now,” Asshole said and Pidge felt the soft _ zing _as they did so. “You are free to wander about the cell but be advised someone will always be watching and these sentries,” of which there were four clustered by the door, “will remain here as well. Any attempts to free the prisoner or escape will be met with swift action.”

And they both knew to whom it would be directed. 

“Your supplies and breakfast will be delivered within the next ten dobashes, so until then feel free to… engage with the prisoner, if you so choose. I know how much you must wish to have a proper reunion with him before things get even more… up close and personal.”

Pidge’s fingers dug into her palms at the reminder.

She’d be torturing Keith within the next few varga.

And she was to be _ grateful _to do so. 

God.

“I’ll even give you two some privacy,” Asshole angled himself towards the door, as though he wasn’t going to immediately go to the viewing room next door and watch them through the mirror on the far wall. “Have fun now.” He grinned. “I know I will.”

Pidge remained still but as soon as he had gone, the door hissing behind him, she practically sprinted for Keith.

Although as she reached him she realized she didn’t really know what to do.

Well, the obvious thing was to remove the gag. Asshole’s only warning had been no escape attempts and although he seemed to relish in loopholes and hidden agendas she couldn’t find one within that warning.

She had to go behind Keith and stand on her tiptoes to reach the knot that was hidden in his hair, and after fumbling with it for a moment she realized it was much, much too tight for her to untangle. So she dug her hands beneath the tight band along the sides of Keith’s face instead and _ yanked _down on it, relieved when that did the trick and it pooled about his neck with a gasp on Keith’s part.

Oh.

That had probably snagged his lip pretty good.

She maneuvered around to his front again and looked up, Keith’s eyes meeting her own.

What did she say?

She didn’t even know where to start.

So she did what felt right.

She hugged him.

Matt had always told her she was like a koala and her hugs were more of strangling grabs that sought to combust internal organs, but yet he suffered through them and she knew he actually really loved them.

She wrapped her arms just as tight about Keith’s waist, fingers digging into the back of his Marmora suit, and pressed her head against his chest mindful though of his right leg. Keith stiffened at the touch and she just clung more at it.

“‘m sorry,” she whispered. “God, I’m, I’m so sorry.”

She could feel the sob she’d been holding this entire time seeking release and her hands tightened even more as it emerged, a broken, horrible sound. 

She had no right to cry in this situation. 

“Pidge,” her name was a rasp, his throat already raw from the screams.

She faintly wondered how long it would be until he lost it.

Still, she lifted her head at the address, vision blurry with unshed tears.

“Are you hurt?”

He didn’t ask if she was okay; they both knew the answer to that. 

“You, you idiot,” she whispered, the words broken up by a gasping heave. “God, Keith. Worry about yourself.”

“Are you hurt?” he repeated. 

She shook her head. 

No.

Not really.

She should be though.

His expression relaxed ever so and it just made Pidge want to punch him for it as a warmth she did not deserve filled her chest at his concern and the sensation of hugging someone comforted her in a way she should not be allowed to feel.

All of this was so wrong.

“What does he want from you?”

So blunt.

Pidge felt comforted by it too.

It was so…

So _ Keith. _

And she had always appreciated that bluntness, that refusal to sugarcoat or hold back. Others might call it brash or even rude, but Keith told it like it was and she never had to doubt his words. If he said it, it was true. 

She whispered out the virus that Asshole, and Keith let out an amused snort at the name that had her own lips quirking up for the barest second, had requested and the consequences if she did not provide it. 

“So you’re going to torture me,” Keith summarized and with her arms still wrapped fully about him Pidge could feel the slight shudder race through him.

Whether it was from that though or the pain he was already in she did not ask. 

He didn’t even question whether she was going to entertain building it.

He knew.

She was tempted to ask him what he would do in her situation but held her tongue. Keith was pragmatic too, but his loyalty ran deep, and she knew he would always put those he cared about above all else.

It was why they should never have let him go, not the way they had done so; hurt feelings and without a fight that how on earth could they have expected a single group hug to have fixed? He’d been trying to _ help _them, to heal a fracturing team, and… and Pidge only remembered feeling abandoned, of feeling that Keith must not have cared about them if he was so easily able to walk away and join the Blade.

It wasn’t like that at all.

He must have been so _ hurt. _

But that’s who Keith was. For all his balking at taking on the role of leader he had done so with a pride and a fierceness and a protectiveness that frankly scared her a little bit with how _ intense _ it was. He had seen an issue, seen a divide, and he had sought to fix it to protect _ them _with no care for himself.

It was no wonder, she realized, he and Lance butted heads so much. There was only so much room for two self-sacrificial idiots on one team even if they went about it in different ways. And Keith would throw his own safety and life away if it meant protecting those he cared about.

And in this case…

That would be her. 

“Keith…”

She didn’t know what to say.

“You can’t make it,” he said softly.

Surely.

He too knew what was at stake.

She shook her head.

“So you have no other choice.”

“Keith…” her hands tightened in his shirt. “This… this is _ wrong. _”

“You’re doing what is right,” he countered.

She hated that he made even an inkling of sense.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she whispered. “God, Keith… I, I _ can’t.” _

“You have to.”

If she didn’t he would be dead.

He didn’t need to say it. 

“Does anyone…?” she let it hang.

Keith’s barely noticeable head shake sent that hope plummeting.

There would be no help coming from the Blades. 

It was unlikely the Rebels or the Paladins would find them either.

They were alone.

And this was no longer something Pidge could try and wait out with all the hollow justifications in the universe that she had to, that the deaths were unavoidable to prevent so many more.

She was a hypocrite, she admitted it. A horrible one.

But she refused to lose Keith.

She would never, ever, forgive herself. 

But unless she found a way against all odds to somehow save them both…

Then Keith would die.

Be it from his wounds or infection or Asshole growing impatient enough and putting a hole through his head he would die and no matter how she tried to justify it she knew deep down it would be her fault. 

Her arms tightened about Keith.

She could not promise they would escape, but she could promise one thing.

She would not let him die alone.

Either they got out of this together…

Or they didn’t get out at all. 

But Pidge had already resolved that she would not let herself break here.

And that meant…

That meant they were getting out.

Somehow.

And that was a promise she would either fulfill…

Or she would die trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay. I spaced on posting this for my early release readers on Saturday so had to push everything back a day ^^;
> 
> Lots of angst and the promise of lots of whump and I've never actually had one good character torture another (closest was Grape ;p) and isn't that such a delightful, awful, horrible concept? ♥ But even so, Keith is here, I was kind enough to let them have a reunion and guess we'll see where it all goes from here :) 
> 
> And just... a quick note from the author's desk. I know this story will never be popular. I know it'll never have a lot of readers and even less comments. I'm trying my best to stay committed to my weekly schedule knowing this. But it would greatly help if those of you who are here were able to pop into the comments and give back a little bit of that joy you hopefully felt reading the fic to the author who wrote it. Quote back a favorite scene, highlight a section that really struck you, a detail that made you think, why you like the fic... it doesn't have to be paragraphs, it doesn't even have to take you more than a minute. But please, not just for me but for all authors, show us that you're here outside of a page click and maybe a kudo. Show us that you want us to keep posting content, that you appreciate what we have given you, that all of the time and work and effort and tears we have put into our craft mean something.
> 
> Thank you.


	6. Six

“And again.”

Pidge’s arm shook, not as the result of the taser she held but at the request.

She couldn’t.

Not anymore.

“Again,” called Asshole, perched atop her work desk. “Or else…”

“P-Pidge,” Keith choked out, his body trembling as much as his words. “Do i-it.”

God.

She pressed the taser once more into his side, the flesh there already burned and bleeding.

Keith’s jaw locked down, veins protruding in his neck, but after a few seconds he lost the battle and a hoarse,  _ raw,  _ scream sounded about the cell.

He always lost it because Asshole didn’t tell her to stop until he did so.

Pidge knew better than to ask him to just scream to start.

Keith had his pride. It was the one thing she would not allow them to take. 

Asshole’s call of “stop” was almost inaudible over the sound of Keith’s agony, but Pidge was fine-tuned for it and released the taser immediately.

Keith shook and coughed, all of his weight dangling once more on his wrists as his body slumped forward, unable to hold him up.

It was no surprise.

The taser shocks were round four.

First had been the whip, fifteen lashes total.

Pidge had held back her strength as much as she dared and Asshole had not called her on it, no doubt seeing her small stature and writing it off. So while Keith’s back was a mess of welts and his shirt was in tatters, she had not actually broken his skin. 

Small things.

Keith had borne the whipping nearly silently save for some grunts and most of that had been when the force sent him stumbling forward and pressure put on his shot leg.

Pidge spent the two hours between them altering her chair -- they’d brought her quiznaking, actually comfortable desk chair -- so it didn’t roll away and while it wasn’t tall enough for Keith to sit down on with his wrists chained still above him she got him to kneel on it during the breaks between tortures, and had then gotten him to drink some of her water -- neither of them touched the breakfast. 

The second round was striking him with what looked like a metal pipe. Pidge had again held back as much as she dared but even so she’d heard something  _ crack  _ in Keith’s ribcage when Asshole had told her to hit harder or he would be coming in himself. 

She spent the time in between that set and the next looking over all the parts that had been brought down for her, seeking  _ any  _ sort of loophole around their signal dampener. They called her a genius, there had to be  _ something  _ she could do. 

Two hours later she still had found nothing.

Round three Asshole had gone back to the whipping idea. But this time the whip he hand-delivered had small, spiked barbs along its length and his eyes had  _ danced  _ as he gave it to her, a whisper that her weakness shouldn’t be a hindrance any longer.

That time it had been twenty strikes.

Twenty lashes that ripped up Keith’s back and sent blood and skin through the air.

He’d passed out on strike twelve.

Asshole had instructed her to a set of syringes in a case on the table -- modified adrenaline -- and told her to wake him up, they still had to finish.

Pushing the needle into Keith’s neck had almost hurt her more.

Almost.

And the worst part?

Keith kept trying to comfort  _ her.  _ He didn’t say much during the torture, sometimes her name when she faltered, but afterwards when  _ he  _ was in pain he rasped out that he was okay, that he was fine, that it was all right, that she was doing what she had to.

And all she could do was try not to cry as she tended him as best she could.

Asshole had said nothing when she’d gone back to the table and retrieved scissors-- and oh God she was  _ terrified  _ of what would happen when Asshole selected that item -- and cut the remains of Keith’s beyond destroyed top half of his suit off him. 

She’d used the little water she had left and soaked one of the clean strips she cut out of the front of it and used it to wipe up the blood, to offer what little care she could. 

She knew it was pathetic.

Keith still thanked her.

She called him an idiot and received only a hoarse laugh in response. 

Pidge had no idea how long they could keep this up.

This was day  _ one  _ and Keith was already a bleeding, trembling mess and she was nowhere closer to escaping than she had been over a week ago when she was first captured. If anything she was further from that goal as now she had to figure Keith into her plans and as stubborn as he was she knew he would not likely be walking out of here under his own power.

“Last one,” Asshole called, jolting her more than the taser. “Place it… here.” He tapped his own leg, his upper right thigh, and Pidge’s eyes widened.

That was where the gunshot wound lie.

It was already cauterized, no blood, but..

But  _ God.  _

She looked up to find Keith looking down at her, his lips a thin line and new rivulets of blood dripping down his chin from biting his tongue and cheek.

He gave her a short nod.

She could see beyond that though, beyond the bravado and clenched jaw.

He was  _ scared.  _

Not of this particular torture but…

But she could see it in his eyes.

He didn’t know how long he was going to last. 

“Paladin--”

“I know,” Pidge snapped.

There was fortunately no retribution to Keith. The taser was probably more painful than the shock cuffs anyway.

Keith had told her to stop apologizing before the torture had even started.

Pidge did so anyway, each time.

It was all she could offer.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, bringing the taser probe level with Keith’s leg.

“Higher,” ordered Asshole as she placed it below the wound, clearly identified via the spot of pale, but burned flesh against the otherwise dark uniform.

Pidge did so, hand shaking again.

A tick later she pushed the button.

Keith didn’t even last two seconds.

He writhed on the chain, his leg weakly kicking out even though he knew it would do no good, and Pidge was forced to follow, to lean in as his weight sagged and hold the current on the injury.

Two seconds later his scream cut off with startling silence that left her ears ringing.

He’d passed out again.

Pidge hastily removed the taser.

“That’s enough for today,” Asshole said, and she risked a glance over at him, lounging atop her desk and grinning with dark amusement. “We don’t want to have too much fun now, do we?”

Pidge said nothing but clenched her hands into fists.

Keith was finally unconscious and she would not say anything to pull him from the little solace he’d found from his pain. 

“This is your new cell as well,” Asshole continued. “You will remain here until either he dies or you build what it is I have requested. I am patient, little Paladin, and have no trouble waiting for either outcome.

Pidge barely heard the last part of Asshole’s sentence.

She got to stay here.

With Keith.

Who was still hanging from the ceiling.

How was--?

As if hearing her thoughts there was the sudden whir of the motor and Keith dropped, his knees hitting the ground with a sickening  _ crack  _ that didn’t even elicit a reaction from him. The cuffs untethered a second later and Pidge barely managed to catch Keith about his middle, blood-soaked back pressing against her front, before he fell face down onto the ground.

At that he did let out a soft moan but did not yet awaken.

Pidge prayed he remained that way until Asshole left.

“I hope you enjoy your time together,” Asshole continued. “I can’t say how much more he has left.”

Pidge’s arms tightened as though that would be enough to protect him.

Asshole saw the gesture and laughed, fangs flashing. “You should reconsider your stance, little Paladin. If you do not give me what I want soon then his death will be entirely on your hands. How much longer do you think he can last, truly?”

Pidge watched as he slid off the desk and made for the table of torture implements.

“Or perhaps I should ask instead,” his voice lowered, “how long can you?” Today was nothing compared to what is coming. Will you be able to shoot him? Cut him? Stab him?” Asshole lifted an item then from the table, dark glee curling his face. “Brand him?”

Her stomach twisted and she couldn’t refrain from shuddering.

“There is so so much still for us to do, little Paladin. Perhaps, by the end, you too will come to relish the sound of his screams.”

“You’re sick.”

The words passed her lips without permission but she needed to say something, anything, in the face of this horror.

He shrugged. “Perhaps. But it is in my nature. You though? You who hurts a friend? Who willingly inflicts agony rather than allowing him the sweet release of death that is inevitable? You are  _ cruel,  _ little Paladin, and there is no denying otherwise.”

Cruel?

Pidge repeated the word in her mind, glanced down at Keith’s still form held in her trembling arms. 

Yes.

She supposed in a way she was.

But it was more than that.

“I prefer hopeful,” she said softly. 

Hope was all she had. Hope her team would come. Hope she would find a way to escape.

Hope that so long as Keith held on they would make it through. 

If she gave up on that…

Then they were both already dead.

“Then I say naive,” sneered Asshole. 

Pidge didn’t refute him but she didn’t agree.

She had not been naive since she discovered that the Garrison, always a beacon of  _ good  _ and  _ just,  _ had covered up the deaths of her family and slandered an innocent pilot in the process. 

And she had not been innocent long after she had arrived in space and found herself part of a  _ war  _ and then…

Then had watched a Galran plummet to his death. 

She was far from any of those things a young girl should be, but what she still was was hopeful and just like Keith had his pride she could not allow that spark of hope to go out.

Katie Holt was not a quitter. When she encountered an obstacle she found a way around it.

This would be the same.

She just needed time, needed data, needed something to change.

Keith’s appearance had changed things.

Now she just had to figure out how to use it. 

“Food and water will be sent by later,” Asshole put down the brand and summoned a sentry over, who grabbed the handles on the wheeled table and began to push it out of the cell.

Pidge had faintly hoped they would be stupid enough to leave her with a table full of weapons and be overconfident of their cameras, but not so.

She didn’t let her disappointment show. 

“Do try and keep him alive for a while longer, little Paladin. I am beginning to grow attached to his screams.”

And with that parting Asshole let himself out of the cell and it was just Pidge, an unconscious Keith, and three sentries posted along the wall by the door. 

She ignored them in favor of lowering Keith fully to the ground, her arms jelly-like from supporting him as while Keith wasn’t large he was deadweight in his current state and a lot of that was muscle.

The blood was also making him slippery. 

There was a single cot, a metal slab just like her previous one, in the room but she already knew she did not have the strength to lift Keith onto it. She did however cross quickly and retrieved the blanket and pillow laid out on it. 

Bandaging Keith wouldn’t do much in the long run, not right now when the wounds were not deep enough to warrant such for blood loss. But shock was something that Pidge knew could still come on from what had been done and so she had another plan for the blanket.

First though she dragged him as carefully as she could across the floor from where his blood stained it -- she ignored the small bits of skin from the barbs as best she could -- and then set about arranging him on his side where there  _ hadn’t  _ been a crack. Already she could see bruises forming on his torso but his breathing was still overall even and she had the hope it was just cracked, not broken, and not endangering his lungs.

She wedged the pillow, pathetic as it was, beneath his head, and then set about placing down the strips of his uniform top she’d previous cut along the bleeding welts on his back.

He shuddered as she did so and she kept pausing, empty platitudes on her tongue.

Comforting was not her strong suit, not in the slightest.

She tried though.

She draped the blanket over him, tucking it in gently as he trembled, and then situated herself by his head, trailing fingers through his hair as her mom used to do for her and occasionally Lance would do so for her now, the action starting as something playful but had morphed following Shiro’s disappearance into something softer, gentler. It seemed to comfort him as much as it did her and as she stroked Keith’s hair, greasy with both sweat and no doubt a lack of hygiene that would have had Lance crying, she felt her heart rate slowing.

It wasn’t much, but she hoped it helped.

Keith began to stir by her count about twenty minutes later, small shudders giving way to fullbody ones and Pidge had to abandon her hair petting to press on his shoulder and keep him from rolling onto his abused back. 

Purple eyes blinked slowly open, haziness giving way to clarify and then to  _ pain  _ that he couldn’t hide.

“Hey,” she said softly, relieved when his gaze met hers.

“Hey.”

His reply was barely a word, a garbled sound and he coughed, that followed up by a low moan and Pidge felt something twist in her chest as he drew his legs up, curling in on himself.

He looked so  _ small.  _

She’d done this.

“Water should be coming soon,” she murmured. “And, and food. Or, well, what they consider it. Makes Coran’s attempts look pretty edible.”

Keith’s lips turned into a ghost of a smile. “Good… good thing I’m not very…” he cut off again with another groan. 

“You need to eat,” Pidge told him. “Gotta, gotta keep up your strength.”

“...I’ll try.”

That was as much as she was going to get and Pidge nodded.

“Is...is there anything I…?” she trailed off, hands bunched in her lap now. 

What exactly could she offer? 

“Just…” Keith’s hand twitched on the ground in front of him and maybe it had been still a result of the shocks but Pidge took it as invitation and grabbed it, threading her fingers through his and that had been the right thing to do as Keith returned the hold with a strength she had not expected. 

“I’m gonna get us out of here,” she promised.

“I know.”

There was no embellishment to the phrase. Just simple knowing despite the fact Pidge had no idea how she was doing that.

She clung to his hand tighter. 

Keith really was an amazing leader.

“And… and you’re coming back.”

At that a wrinkle of confusion crossed his face.

“With me. To Voltron.”

And now that she was watching for it she saw it; the shadow in his eyes, the flicker of hurt at the reminder that he wasn’t part of the team anymore.

“Pidge--”

“You’re a Paladin,” she told him, squeezing his hand. “You’re  _ our  _ Red Paladin. And, and we want you back.  _ I  _ want you back. It’s not… it’s not the same without you.”

“But…” his gaze drifted down. 

“Fuck the numbers,” she said hotly. “Fuck them, Keith. We’ll figure it out. But, but… You belong with  _ us.” _

Keith hadn’t cried once during the torture.

She saw a glimmer of tears now that even as he closed his eyes he couldn’t contain.

She squeezed his hand tighter. 

“It...it might be a few days,” she said quietly. “I don’t… I still need…I’m not sure how to, to…”

“You’ll figure it out,” Keith said, overbright eyes lifting once more to hers. “And I’ll hold on until you do.”

“It’s going to get worse.”

“I know.”

He said it just like last time, although with a resignation coloring the words. 

“I’m--”

“No,” he cut her off, a flash of fire that soothed her at the familiarity. “No. No more apologies. Pidge this… this isn’t your fault.”

She gave a tiny shrug.

“Hey,” his voice turned sharper. “It is n--”

“I killed people.”

The sentence hung there.

“Six people,” she whispered. “I, I didn’t pull the trigger but… but they died. Because of me.”

“Because of the Galra,” Keith said quietly. 

Pidge sucked in a sob.

She knew that. 

She’d told herself that.

But…

But  _ still... _

Keith swallowed thickly, throat bobbing.

“We… we all have to make choices,” he continued. “And, and until you’re in that spot…” Pain flashed across his features and Pidge didn’t think it was entirely from the injuries. “All we can do is keep moving forward, one step at a time, and make each step count towards something better than where we came from.”

“That sounds like something Shiro would say,” Pidge sniffled, rubbing her free hand over her eyes.

Keith let out a huff. “Because it is.”

She gave his head a light smack and was rewarded by another huff of laughter, feeling something lighten inside her too.

“And… and what Keith say?” 

Keith sobered. He chewed on his lower lip, clearly contemplating his answer.

“That… that life is fucked up,” he said slowly. “That shit happens and sometimes there’s nothing you can do. But… but no matter what you can’t give up without a fight.” Purple bored into honey brown. “We’re fighters, Pidge. We… we don’t quit.”

She knew that too. 

But… but this wasn’t a regular enemy or a fight.

“He’s smart,” she said softly, knowing Keith knew who she referred to.

Asshole was smarter than any Galra she’d ever met. 

“You’re smarter,” Keith countered immediately with the same conviction of before. His gaze softened. “You’ll get us home.”

Home.

Keith was going to go home with her.

He was going to be a part of their family again.

And this time…

This time she was never letting him go. 

Tears pricked her eyes again.

“Hell yeah I will,” she promised through her tears. “We’re going home.”

Forget dying trying.

She wouldn't die.

Neither would Keith.

They were getting out of here,  _ alive,  _ and that was the only acceptable outcome. 

She knew it wasn't going to be easy. Keith was going to be  _ hurt,  _ badly, in the time it took for her to figure out a plan.

But she would not let him die.

She would not give up.

She was a fighter.

And it was time Asshole realized who he was up against us. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave a comment if you're feeling kind. Thank you.


	7. Seven

**Day Twelve (Day Two - Keith)**

Asshole strung Keith up from the ceiling again.

The first torture was the taser.

Asshole ordered her to press it into the raw wounds on his back from the whip. 

“Paint a picture,” he smirked. “I want to see how he bleeds.”

Keith had not stopped twitching even an hour after she had been allowed to stop.

Pidge had thrown herself into dismantling and rebuilding every part of the computer she had been given, looking for _ anything _that she could use to bypass the Galra’s signal dampener.

She was a fighter.

She was not a quitter.

She was going to find a way.

Asshole apparently wasn’t feeling very creative as the second torture two hours later was the barbed whip again.

The third one was the whip again. 

Pidge was scared to find out where it was going. 

The final torture involved a hose, a giant nozzle the size of Pidge’s head.

“We have to keep our halfbreed clean, don’t we?” he sneered.

It was salt water.

He forced Pidge to blast it from all angles, the water soaking into Keith’s tattered back and drawing the first tears just as salty as the water down Keith’s face.

Keith passed out a couple minutes in and Pidge did what she could to keep the water out of his face as he hung completely limp from the chains.

She had no idea how to do CPR and she doubted Asshole would assist if Keith ended up drowning.

Four tortures though over the eight hour timeframe seemed to be enough for Asshole and Pidge didn’t dare ask why in fear he’d go for a fifth. He once more collected the torture table and this time also the computer and all of its pieces; for all their insistence they wanted results they apparently didn’t want her working on it anymore except under his immediate supervision.

Pidge wanted to be mad but there was no way she could have concentrated on it anyway when Keith was right there and while she couldn’t do much she could sit with him.

Keith was released from the chains and she pulled him back to the corner she’d set up for them, blotting him as dry as she could with the blanket and then covering him up with the clean side.

Red streaks stared up at her. 

When he woke later with a gasp and a shudder Pidge had held his hand, smoothed his hair, and told him stories about shenanigans she knew Matt and Shiro had gotten into when they were at the Garrison and hearing his hoarse laughter was the best thing he could have done for her.

Him ordering her not to apologize anymore was a close second.

“_No more,” _ he’d choked out as she repeated the phrase over and over. _ “It’s not your fault.” _

_ “I’m hurting you!” _

_ “You’re keeping me alive,” _ he had countered with softly but no less fiercely. “_Don’t ever apologize for that.” _

Pidge couldn’t do much but she could do that. She agreed.

And getting Keith to eat his serving of the dinner was the third even though he’d gagged the entire time and Pidge had joined him in that. He had to keep up his strength to survive and just like he’d told her, they were fighters. They would fight through and overcome any obstacle; even noxious gruel.

Another day down.

She didn’t have much to show for it but Keith assured her that it was all right. He trusted her.

She would get them home.

**Day Thirteen (Day Three - Keith)**

Pidge broke all of Keith’s fingers. 

He was strapped down to a chair that day although the way his back was forcibly pressed into the hard back and his arms and legs cuffed tightly negated nearly any comfort on that end.

Pidge used some sort of alien pliers and had to twist every finger backwards until they snapped.

Then she had to remove his nails. 

Keith stopped trying to reassure her it was okay by the time she reached his second hand.

The third and fourth tasks were to give his feet the same treatment. 

Pidge couldn’t even hold his hand that night, Keith hiding the mangled appendages against his stomach where he curled up around them.

All of her attempts to find a way around the signal blocker had failed.

Neither of them spoke much that night.

Pidge fell asleep with one hand tangled in Keith’s hair.

**Day Fourteen (Day Four - Keith)**

She burned him. 

Not the brand, thank God not the brand, but the smell of burnt flesh had sent her stomach heaving and after the fourth circular burn pressed just below Keith’s collarbone he had vomited too, even if was mostly just stomach bile as he hadn’t eaten more than a few bites of the gruel the day before.

Then she drowned him.

Waterboarding.

It was element day, Asshole had sneered, as he forced her to pour another bucket of water over the saturated towel covering Keith’s lower face. He’d made her leave it partially clear so purple eyes, pinpricked with fear, were visible, as Keith writhed in the chair to start and then his movements became slower and slower, only to repeat the cycle each time she was allowed to remove the towel and let him draw in heaving gasps before administering it again.

Pidge knew she would never forget the sound he made when she began the torrent anew, that soft, high keen of pure terror as broken hands scrambled on the arm rests where he was strapped down to a chair again and he _ couldn’t fucking breathe _ and she just _ kept drowning him. _

God. 

God this was...

The taser was next, zapped against still damp skin and pants that were starting to show more and more pale, bloodied flesh in the rips and tears.

The light had arced, _ sizzled. _

Keith hadn’t had the energy to scream although his vocal cords still tried to give voice to the pain.

He was fading. 

The fourth torture was rubbing a giant leaf all over his chest and arms. She was ordered to wear gloves -- can’t hurt her delicate little hands, Asshole had chuckled -- that had smeared some sort of sap in its wake. 

Apparently it burned like acid.

Pidge had never hated nature more as Keith twitched and moaned as a red rash blossomed wherever the leaf had touched and it would be one torture that kept on giving long after she was done. 

Pidge wanted to cry.

To top it off, all of her attempts were dead ends.

There was no way to get a signal out, no matter how hard she tried.

There wasn’t some part she could squirrel away to make some weapon to surprise Asshole let alone the three permanent sentries always watching.

And she couldn’t _ think _anymore.

All that rattled in her brain were Keith’s screams, his cries, the way he jerked and trembled and bled. 

She needed some _ spark, _some jolt of inspiration because she had to be smarter than this she had to--

Spark.

Jolt.

A _ pulse. _

An electromagnetic pulse.

Or, well, a crystal one.

Of which, her eyes flicked to where a sentry was carting out the computer, she knew it had from dismantling it as that was how it ran and not something Asshole could take away. It was a small one, not very powerful.

But…

But it could be enough. 

Her problem was the signal dampener, installed somewhere unseen in this cell. 

Ideally she wanted to disable it so she could get a transmission out -- and Pidge knew without a doubt she could bypass any failsafe the base had -- but it would be impossible even if she were to locate it to disable it and in the same instant send out the signal without either Asshole or the sentries getting involved.

But…

But what if she didn’t just take out the signal dampener with an EMP (ECP? Just a CP? She’d figure out the particulars later)? What if she took out _ everything _around her?

The sentries.

The weapons.

The communications for any backup.

The cameras.

The fucking shock cuffs.

She would still have to fight her way out and the odds were not in her favor as the only weapons that would still be of use would be one needing some measure of strength and force to wield and Asshole easily outclassed her but…

But she could do it.

She _ had _to do it.

She was going to get them home. 

**Day Fifteen (Day Five- Keith)**

Whipping. Burning. Shocks. _ Stabbing. _

Done via a thin, needle-like dagger she’d been ordered to stab again and again into and through flesh. Hand. Foot. Stomach. Thigh. 

For one terrifying moment Asshole had ordered her to put it through Keith’s _ eye _ and she had balked, choking out that for humans that, that would be _ fatal. _

And thank God the Galra hadn’t yet studied human biology (now though Pidge wondered if that would be something to consider) and Asshole had withdrawn that request.

She’d just had to stab him an extra four times to make up for it. 

But around all that horror…

Pidge had made progress.

She’d almost _ finished. _

She’d disguised it under the guise of finally working on the virus, of _ breaking _herself and the eye-stabbing bit had actually come at a good time as she’d dissolved into absolute hysterics at the thought of him dying.

And while she could not assume anything with Asshole anymore, he having played her far too many times now, she didn’t think she was wrong this time by the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes.

Five days of torturing a friend, of hopelessness as both a rescue and escape continued to remain out of reach, was enough to break anyone. 

But she was not anyone.

And she was not broken.

And neither was Keith.

He didn’t talk much anymore. He barely screamed either, his voice gone from the abuse.

But he was still there.

He was still holding on.

His eyes, while often hazy with pain, still burned with an inner fire.

Of trust.

In _ her. _

“I’m gonna get us home,” she promised as she had every night.

But this time they weren’t just words.

Keith seemed to sense it too as his head, resting in her lap, shifted ever so and he met her gaze.

She stroked his cheek, just below where the bruise was beginning to turn a greenish-yellow. It was the only part of him improving and seeing it slowly work its way through the healing cycle comforted her. 

“We’re going home,” she whispered. 

She didn’t add any more to it and Keith did not ask. He only turned his face into her hand, the closest thing he could offer to comfort her, and pressed a cold nose against her palm. 

His ability to trust in her still made her reel.

No matter what he’d told her, she _ was _ torturing him. _ She _was the one dealing those blows, those hurts, and yet every night he never shied away from her touch, never looked at her with fear. 

She didn’t know if she could have done that.

She would know that it wasn’t really her wanting to do this, but the fact of the matter she was the face he saw as she pressed burns into his skin, as she pulled off nails, as she drowned him over and over. 

“You’re amazing,” she murmured and seeing Keith’s brow wrinkle ever so in confusion drew a breathy laugh. “Trust me.”

And of course he did, confusion going to a weak affront that she would ever doubt that.

“Get some sleep,” she said gently. “Tomorrow… tomorrow is gonna be a big day.”

Tomorrow…

They were going _ home. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to read more of my fanfiction? Check out my Tumblr, icypantherwrites.  
Want to support me? Leave a comment; I love hearing from readers and appreciate those so much who take the time to do so ♥


	8. Eight

**Day Sixteen (Day Six - Keith)**

Pidge had to go along with the first round of torture so she could get a lay of what weapons she had available to her that day. Asshole always kept extras on the table to keep her guessing as to his intentions, but no matter what she was going to need some sort of weapon that was not aided via technology for when she disabled all of it. 

She found it immediately.

A crossbow.

And not one with a laser trigger but actual bolts. Not very practical in the warfare they engaged but she could tell from the design it was old, archaic probably, by Galra standards, but for torture?

It would work more than well. 

And for killing Asshole?

Should work too. 

Fortunately it was not the first item Asshole instructed her to grab as she wasn’t set up yet and the crossbow only had so many bolts, but a knife instead, this one thicker than the stiletto dagger but very short in length.

Pidge tried not to imagine stabbing this into Keith.

All of the wounds so far had not been fatal, a requirement on Asshole’s part.

But this…

“We’re going to write a message today,” Asshole said and she forced herself to look at him and not at the sentries manhandling Keith into his position of the day.

The lab table that had been brought in was new and she _ did not like it. _

“A message?” she parroted, letting her voice waver. “For.. for my team?”

Asshole snorted. “You would like that, wouldn’t you? No, this message is for you, little Paladin.”

He’d stopped calling her any other name besides that. Not ‘Paladin’ or ‘Green Paladin.’ Always little.

Pidge didn’t refute it. If it made her look more pathetic to him then the better for her. 

“For me?”

“A reminder of what a horrible person you are,” he smiled, fangs glinting. “All this time you could have been working on my project and sparing your friend, and yet you chose not to do so.”

“I’m working on it now!” she protested, voice rising in distress.

It wasn’t entirely faked.

“But it is not done, now is it?”

Pidge lowered her eyes and hunched her shoulders.

No.

No it wasn’t.

But almost there.

“So this message is for you. And your canvas is waiting.” Asshole gestured then and Pidge slowly pivoted towards where the lab table had been brought in beneath the chains.

Keith was strapped down on his front, bloodied, tattered back fully visible. His hands and feet had been restrained in manacles at his sides and he had his head resting on his left cheek.

His eyes were closed but she could tell he was not unconscious, his body too tense for that. 

“You will write ‘I am a monster,’ into his skin. A fitting message, don’t you agree? For both your actions and,” Asshole’s lip curled, “for a halfbreed like him.”

Pidge’s hand shook.

What?

She’d already realized that Keith was not going to get out of this without scars. The pods were amazing, their capabilities still beyond even her understanding as to how they worked on a combination of Altean alchemy and science and magic, but they weren’t a cure-all. And many of Keith’s wounds were several days old at this point and even though they would heal they would leave behind a mark.

And this?

Even if they escaped today as she planned (prayed) there was no telling if this message would remain permanent as she cut into already raw and damaged flesh. 

It may be too far gone to seal properly.

And as horrifying as the whip lashes would be -- of which, she’d noticed on that first day there were a few faint lines already on Keith’s back but she had not asked and he had not offered because some wounds even after they healed were still open and now was not the time to delve into them -- and the burns and the incisions, they were just marks; impersonal things.

But a message?

A message describing him as a _ monster? _

God. 

It wouldn’t matter that it was on his back, that unless he angled in a mirror could he see it. It would be there.

And words could cut far deeper than any wound.

Doubly so if they were the wound.

God.

“What are you waiting for, little Paladin? Go on now.”

Pidge’s feet mechanically carried her to Keith’s side.

There was hardly an inch of untouched skin on his back; welts and cuts and burns marring every inch of once pale flesh. 

“Nice and big,” Asshole coached. 

Pidge shakily lifted the knife and pressed the tip just inside Keith’s left shoulder. 

He tensed below her, a whistling breath escaping clenched teeth.

“Harder.”

Crimson bubbled up in the line Pidge made.

“Good, good,” Asshole smirked, standing over her shoulder now. “Now finish the word.”

Finish the…

Pidge looked down.

And realization struck like a freight train.

Asshole… Asshole couldn’t read English.

Why would he? The only ones who used it up here in the universe were her fellow humans and no written translators existed (Pidge had stopped questioning how all aliens seemed to understand one another upon speaking because such a thought made her brain hurt). 

She…

She could write something else.

It wouldn’t spare Keith the pain of the torture but…

But if it did scar, if these words did become permanent…

She could make sure they were something to be proud of.

A testament to all they had overcome.

A message to herself? A message to describe Keith?

She had just the thing.

Pidge carved another line. 

Keith trembled.

A tear slipped out of tightly closed eyes. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” she whispered, comforting as much as she could.

Keith stilled.

He gave a jerky nod against the table.

Asshole chuckled.

She made another letter.

And another.

And another.

Asshole continued to critique her technique.

He did not critique her spelling.

Pidge finished far too many minutes later, scarlet staining her fingers from where the blood had bubbled up past the hilt of the knife.

“Excellent,” Asshole purred. “Read it aloud to me now.”

“I…” Pidge swallowed thickly. “I am a, a monster.”

In her head she read the actual message.

_ “I am a fighter.” _

Damn straight.

They were fighters.

They were strong.

They didn’t give up. 

And no matter what Asshole forced her to do to Keith neither one of them was going to break.

“And that’s enough,” Asshole said. “Two more varga, little Paladin. Let’s see if you can finish before the next punishment. If it encourages you… today’s theme is ‘words’ and up next… well, I invite you to guess.”

Pidge didn’t have to guess.

She knew.

It would be the brand.

The brand that upon closer inspection when she’d surveyed the table read something involving the words “Galra Empire.” She couldn’t read Galran, just as they could not read English, but she knew a number of words thanks to having to constantly hack into their systems. 

She had no doubts it said something along the lines of “property of” and even if none of them could read it just knowing it was to be permanently burned into Keith’s skin was enough to curdle her stomach.

Asshole laughed at her expression that wasn’t at all faked.

“Get to work, little Paladin. But truly, I encourage you to take your time.”

Pidge would do no such thing.

In two varga she was launching her plan.

In two varga they were going to escape.

And in two varga Asshole would be _ dead. _

Pidge’s fingers _ flew _over the keyboard, over the parts that made up the data drive that she was calibrating into a booster to extend the range of her pulse. 

Asshole just watched, chuckling beneath his breath at intervals, as she no doubt looked _ desperate _and Pidge kept up the look. 

It looked like her earlier revulsion at the brand was going to pay off. 

“Two minutes,” Asshole called helpfully as Pidge did a final once over of her program.

She looked up past the screen. “I’m not finished. Please, just, just another varga and I can--”

“Oh, little Paladin, your pleas have not worked before what makes you think they matter to me now?”

“I’m almost--”

“You may finish after you brand the halfbreed.”

Halfbreed.

Just like how Asshole had begun to only call her little he had stopped referring to Keith by his name or as a Blade or Paladin. It was always halfbreed now, as though being half-human made Keith an abomination.

She supposed to them it did.

It was just another way to dehumanize (dealien?) them, to make them seem small.

_ “I am a fighter.” _

Yes.

Yes they were.

And their words were stronger than his. 

She keyed in the start sequence as Asshole counted down her last few seconds.

It would go off in two minutes.

She just had to stall by the weapons table until then.

And honestly? That part should not be difficult at all. Her hands shook even thinking about the brand.

If this didn’t work…

God.

God she needed it to work.

“And time,” Asshole called. “Did you finish, little Paladin?”

“I’m almost--”

“That would be no. And you know the consequences.”

“Please, I--”

“Protest again and I will double it.”

Pidge’s mouth clamped shut.

Cowed.

Asshole smirked.

Pidge slowly walked to the table, dragging her feet as she mentally counted down the timer.

Eighty-eight seconds left.

The brand was about a foot away from the crossbow. 

She gingerly picked it up, metal pole cool to the touch but she knew as soon as she turned it on the end would heat.

She made a show of turning it around, of looking at the words embossed on the bottom.

“What… what does it say?” she asked.

Asshole chuckled. “Property of the Galra Empire.”

Pidge had figured as much but hearing it aloud made her shudder anew.

Sixty-four seconds left.

“But… but he’s not,” she whispered.

“He is part-Galran, is he not?”

Pidge looked up, meeting Asshole’s cruel yellow gaze. 

She had to still fight.

Couldn’t be too defeated.

“Then do you have one?”

And to her relief Asshole laughed, amused over offended. 

“Me? Of course not. _ I _ am a fullblooded Galra. _ He _is a halfbreed. And halfbreeds… they are lower than scum. Being considered any part of the Empire, even as a piece of property, is more honor than they deserve.”

Interspecies racism. Pidge faintly wondered if it was just a Galra Empire thing or if the Blades too had those who looked down at Keith, at anyone not fullblooded. 

To be hated for something one could not have controlled…

To be loathed simply because a different blood ran through their veins…

She felt sick.

Even Allura’s hatred of the Galra had not stemmed from such a sick reason and she had moved past that in any case. 

All of this was yet another reason to bring Keith back home. 

He was _ never _going back to the Blades. 

Forty-nine seconds.

She still needed to stall.

“Your prince,” she said quickly. “Lotor. Isn’t he only half-Galran?”

Something ugly crossed Asshole’s face. “That whelp? He is no prince of mine. He is a _ mistake _and soon enough fate will catch up to him.”

Interesting.

Pidge notated that for later.

Thirty-six seconds.

“Enough,” Asshole snapped, temper even shorter now and reminding her of those first few days of captivity. But unlike then she knew how dangerous he was now. “No more stalling.”

Damn.

He’d figured her out.

But not for the reasons he thought.

Pidge shook her head, keeping her feet planted. 

“You do remember the rules of our little engagement, do you not?” Asshole asked. “Should you refuse to hurt him as instructed I will kill him.”

His hand lowered to the blaster strapped to his side as if Pidge needed the reminder.

“I, I know.”

She didn’t move.

Twenty-two seconds. 

“I see,” Asshole’s fangs glinted. “You would rather him dead than branded. That is where you draw the line. Interesting.”

“No! I just…”

She just needed sixteen more seconds.

She looked back at the brand. 

Stall stall stall _ stall. _

“Where… where am I supposed to…?” She swallowed thickly, bobbing the brand.

Let him take the bait. Let him answer the question.

“Several places now.”

Pidge jerked her head up at that.

Also at the proximity of his voice.

Asshole was right next to her.

“It was just going to be the one, here,” and a clawed hand brushed against her lower back, fingers trailing over her undersuit that made her skin prickle, “but I think a few more are in order for the delay.”

Pidge shuddered.

Ten seconds.

“Maybe one here,” Asshole’s hand came up and landed on the nape of her neck. “And another here,” and his hand trailed down, claws skimming over her collarbone.

Pidge jerked forward out of his grip before it went lower, her stomach twisting for a new reason now.

Asshole only laughed. 

“Now more delays now, little Paladin. Last chance.”

Pidge inclined her head, bangs hiding her eyes.

They tracked to the crossbow just inches from her and pre-loaded with a single bolt.

Three seconds.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay. I’m…”

Two seconds.

“I’m going...”

One.

“Now.”

As if waiting for her command there was a sudden crackling sound from her laptop. Several things happened at once.

One second.

Asshole whirled around towards the sound.

The sentries stationed by the door all collapsed in a pile of clanking metal.

A sharp jolt raced through Pidge’s wrists as the cuffs activated and deactivated in the same second.

She dropped the brand and had the crossbow in hand before it hit the floor.

Two seconds.

The brand clattered.

Asshole turned back around, blaster in hand.

There was no light on it.

Dead.

Just like he was about to be.

Asshole’s eyes widened, shock and for the first time a real glimmer of fear.

Good.

Pidge hefted the crossbow onto her shoulder and took aim.

The images of the dead prisoners crossed her mind: small hole between their eyes and back of their head a mess of gore.

She would do it in the reverse.

Justice.

Three seconds.

Asshole’s mouth opened.

He raised a hand up as though that would save him.

Pidge fired the crossbow.

The recoil sent her stumbling backwards, chest pulsing where it had collided.

The bolt passed through Asshole’s palm…

Into his forehead, right between his eyes…

And out the back of his head.

A perfect shot.

He collapsed without even a scream.

Dead.

Pidge stood there, chest heaving and arms trembling.

She’d just…

He was...

There was no time to waste though as no doubt reinforcements would be arriving once the cameras went dark.

She had to hurry.

Keith first.

And he was already prepped to go.

Pidge let out a somewhat hysterical giggle at the thought.

The table they’d strapped him to had wheels. She had planned to get him someway onto the weapons table and push him out but she could skip that step completely.

Keith was looking at her as she ran over, such fierce pride on his face and despite the pain a smile on his lips.

He mouthed her name and Pidge gave him a teary smile.

“Not out of this yet,” she told him, disengaging the locks holding the wheels, although she left the cuffs for now, and dropped her crossbow, the spare handful of bolts and the pliers she had grabbed by Keith’s feet. Optimism had never been her strong suit even though she had to admit things were lining up as best as they could here.

She pushed him over to the door, which was also disengaged following her crystal pulse.

Not to worry.

She had a plan. 

The Galra doors did not have hinges, retracting straight up into the ceiling.

They also had no locks.

The only thing keeping them sealed was the crystal configuration and without it, well…

Pidge grabbed the thin knife she’d used the previous day off the weapons table and shoved the blade beneath the hairline crack between the door and the floor.

And then she shoved up.

The door retracted immediately and Pidge wasted no time, grabbing hold of the table and pulling it behind her into the hallway.

The end of the table just made it through it before the door came crashing back down.

“Okay,” Pidge breathed.

So far so good.

The hallway was still clear and no alarms were yet ringing.

She did hear muffled thumping from the viewing room next door.

Ah.

There would be the other Galrans.

Sick assholes watching the torture like they were at the Arena. 

Their door must have been affected by the pulse too and Pidge let out a tiny breath that they hadn’t yet figured the door could be lifted with the proper application.

They needed to get out of here before they did.

Still, she had to be on guard. It was unlikely _ all _of them were in there as someone likely still had to be responsible for communications and camera--

Footsteps.

Just one set though and not the clanking metal of sentries.

Shouldn’t be a problem.

She was already reaching for the crossbow, loading a new projectile to it, when the Galran appeared from around the corner.

He gurgled as he went down, bolt through his throat. 

She swiped his blaster, adding it to her pile of ill gotten goods.

She careened the table through the halls to where she had identified the corridor to the hangar to be. There was still no time to waste as eventually the dumbasses would figure out the door and they would be out for blood. 

She encountered her first obstacle as the hallway ended: the hangar door had a Galra signature panel.

Pidge could hack it, it would take with what she had about a minute.

Keith’s hand could summon it in seconds but she had to free him from the cuffs first which would take a little bit of time.

Or…

She pressed her fingers as lightly as she could on Keith’s back where blood was readily available.

“Sorry,” she whispered and she could almost feel his glare at the apology around his groan.

She swiped bloodied fingers on the panel and after a tick it lit up purple.

Success.

She rolled Keith through and paused, turning around to pick up the heavy Galra blaster.

She opened fire on the panel and the entire thing sparked dangerously and the door _ slammed _shut.

Even better. That should buy them enough time to get the fuck out of here. 

And there was their ride: a Galra fighter jet parked and waiting.

Her smile of success fell though as her eyes landed on the ramp leading into it.

It was narrow. Moreso than the table.

She couldn’t push Keith any farther.

And she knew her limits.

She could not carry him. 

He would have to walk.

“Keith,” she fluttered to his side, her palms sweaty now as a tremble to them as exhaustion began to catch up, the sick feeling that any second now they were going to be caught even though there was no sign yet of pursuit because after all the horror they’d gone through this should not be so easy.

Again, optimism was not a strong suit.

“There’s, there’s a ramp. I… I need your help. Can, can you walk? I’ll help. But--”

Keith’s eyes had closed in the mad dash over but they opened now and as tired as they were that inner fire still burned bright and he gave a jerking nod. 

Yes.

Pidge picked up the pliers and twisted off the manacles holding his wrists and ankles captive to the table and Keith shakily tried to lift himself up.

He fell back down within a tick, arms collapsing beneath him and a high keen torn from his throat.

He couldn’t support himself and she could see not only the pain then but the frustration that was starting to trickle towards desperation.

“You’re hurt,” she pointed out the obvious. “God, Keith, if I was you I would be _ unconscious _right now. I said I’d help, you idiot.”

The gentle tone though took out any sting.

Pidge maneuvered up to his shoulder and as carefully as she could she looped his right arm about her own.

“I’m gonna pull you forward, okay?” He should slide against the metal, the blood that had dripped down and congealed beneath from the words carved into his skin acting as a lubricant. It would hurt, but…

Keith gave another nod.

She stepped forward and Keith _ moaned. _

She had to ignore it.

She dragged him, felt it when his upper torso was clear of the table as his weight pushed into her back. 

She kept going.

She heard his body squelch as it went through the gore and then a muted scramble as his feet twitched and then his back half was falling and Pidge stumbled forward as all of his body bore down on her.

Somehow she didn’t fall because by some fucking miracle Keith got his feet beneath him.

He was nearly draped over her back, breath hot on the nape of her neck, but he was _ standing. _

God.

She couldn’t believe it.

“Okay,” she adjusted his grip, shifting to try and bring herself more aligned to his side and wrapping her other arm about his lower back, fingers digging into his tattered waistband. “Okay, step with me.”

Keith shakily did so.

“You are fucking unbelievable,” she muttered as they began to ascend the ramp. 

Keith let out a wheeze that Pidge chose to interpret as a laugh. 

She could feel blood oozing between her fingers and she held on tighter.

What should have been a few seconds to board was almost two minutes as while Keith was standing he was barely moving and the uphill platform was not helping matters at all.

The hangar door rattled just as they stepped into the ship. 

“Go,” Keith rasped, the word more of just a hiss of air but Pidge understood.

She still lowered him as gently as she could to the floor before sprinting into the small cockpit.

Galra signature panel again.

She looked at her bloodied hand.

And once again not a problem.

The controls flared to life around her and within a few ticks she had the ramp pulled up, the small bay door closed and the thrusters warming up.

“Hang on,” she called over her shoulder, as though Keith was capable of doing so.

She flipped a few switches and the ship began to lift into a hover.

The hangar doors stared back and Pidge didn’t see a convenient remote to open them.

Well.

She had said she wanted to destroy the base.

The resulting barrage of lasers decimating the door was music to her ears. 

“We’re going,” she shouted, barely audible over the roar of the thrusters.

A tick later they shot into the dark sky of the universe.

She left the base behind without a second glance as Keith was her concern over any revenge.

But she noted the coordinates on the ship’s log and burned them into her memory.

She would be back to burn other things soon enough.

For the next several minutes she focused on piloting, knowing they had to get out, had to get away, in case they were followed.

To her displeasure the transmission board was coded to only work with other Galra-signature ships. She was sure with time she could hack it to reach out to the castle, but for now she let it be.

Keith was priority number one. 

She did engage the autopilot, coordinates set to Olkarion for now so they were heading _ somewhere _friendly and the computer showed it would be about eight hours.

She fully intended to get a hold of the castle well before then and have Allura wormhole them home. Like fuck was she waiting that long and Keith definitely wasn’t.

She took one last moment to scour the cabin for an emergency kit as it was a universal concept and to her relief she found one. The items in it were mostly foreign but she recognized water pouches and a blanket was a blanket no matter if it was an ugly Galra purple.

She took those things into the small hold just behind the cockpit where Keith was lying where she’d left him.

He looked so pale.

She took a trembling step forward, that shaky feeling from before coming back full force.

He wasn’t…?

“Keith?” she whispered. “K-Keith?”

A dull purple eye cracked open. 

She shuddered out a breath and all but collapsed next to him.

“We did it,” she said into the silence. “We did it.”

A faint smile twitched onto Keith’s face.

“We’re going home. Keith, we’re--”

She broke off as his eyes slipped closed again and his face went slack.

“K-Keith?”

She reached a shaking hand out and was rewarded with a faint puff of air on it.

Still breathing.

Still alive.

It was all she could ask for right now.

She flipped the blanket out, spreading it as best she could over him.

Bloody fingerprints decorated it.

She wiped them on the cloth and then lifted them to Keith’s face, tracing his cheek.

“We’re fighters, right?” she choked out. “We don’t give up. So you, you can’t, now…”

She swallowed down the sob.

“We’re going home, Keith. And, and...And we’re never letting you go again. So just… hang on. Fight. I… I know you can do it. We’re almost there. Don’t… don’t give up now.” 

He let out a soft little sigh.

She considered that to be an agreement.

She brushed his cheek one last time before she stood.

She had work to do.

It was time to go home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title drop :)  
Want to read more of my fanfiction? Check out my [Tumblr, icypantherwrites.](https://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com/)  
Want to support me? Please leave a comment ♥ It means a lot to hear from readers.


	9. Nine

It scarred.

Pidge shouldn’t have expected anything less. Even though it had been fresh the words had been carved into existing wounds, deep into tissue that wasn’t so willing to give up its pain.

They weren’t the only ones.

Burn scars, bright pink and shiny, littered his chest, his legs and thighs from the tasers. Dark ropey lines had been embedded into his back, puckered and raised from the barbs on the whip. Smaller lines, pinpricks, had been left behind from the dagger.

Pidge felt sick looking at it.

Her… her _ canvas. _

She had done that.

But it wasn’t her fault.

It was a mantra she’d repeated for the last two days to herself as she sat outside the pod waiting for Keith to wake up. 

Not her fault.

Not her fault.

The others told her the same when she’d relayed in bits and pieces what had happened. The deaths. Keith’s wounds. The weapons.

She had never seen Shiro make that expression before, his face twisted with rage and horror and fear and so so so much _ hate. _

She never wanted to see it again.

It was… it was _ scary. _

They hadn’t stopped looking, she’d been told. They’d been searching _ everywhere, _following every lead.

They just hadn’t been able to find her. 

They were so sorry.

Hunk had broken down sobbing, pulling her into his arms and crying apologies into her hair to the point it grew damp. 

She didn’t blame them. She knew it would have been impossible. She wasn’t sure if even she could have found her.

No.

She knew she couldn’t have.

No one there was at fault.

She was not at fault.

The only ones at fault were the Galra.

She still felt sick.

She needed Keith to wake up. That would… would make it better. 

And it was almost time.

Any minute now.

She got up and paced around the infirmary again.

Everyone had wanted to be there but Pidge had said quietly it should just be her. 

Shiro had looked so _ hurt. _

Pidge remained firm, even as that hurt turned to anger.

Keith was _ his _ brother! _ His _family. He should be there. He should--

Allura had to Pidge’s surprise interjected.

No, she had said softly but firmly. It should just be Pidge for now. She’d told Shiro he could go in after Pidge gave the all clear but they did not want to crowd or overwhelm Keith. And… and both Pidge and Keith needed this moment together.

Alone.

Hence Shiro storming about the castle.

There had been something else too in Allura’s tone and jewel eyes had been sad as they locked with Pidge.

She knew.

She knew that Keith wasn’t going to be returning to the Blade.

And Pidge knew Allura understood what that meant for Voltron.

And without saying anything Pidge could see Allura’s resignation and determination all in one as to what had to be done.

Pidge had hugged the princess tight, eliciting a gasp but then just as tight of arms about her.

_ “Thank you,” _Pidge had whispered. 

“_He is our Red Paladin,” _ Allura had murmured back. _ “We will make things right.” _

Lance had hugged her tight too later that afternoon.

_ “Gracias,” _ he’d choked out. “_Blue, she… she… Gr-gracias.” _

Things were going back to the way they should be and Pidge had returned the hug.

She’d clung just a little tighter as ‘loud one’ echoed in her mind. 

Shiro was still a little… different. But Black had accepted him. Red she knew would accept Keith.

And all of her space family would be together once more.

She just needed Keith to wake up.

Any second any second any sec--

The pod opened with a hiss. 

Keith didn’t totter out like Lance tended to, but remained in the pod, slumped back, looking so _ pale _in just the remains of his Marmora pants as after taking one look at him Coran had practically catapulted him into the pod.

“Keith?” she whispered..

His eyes flew open and locked onto hers.

“Pidge.”

Her name was a breath.

He took a step forward…

And into open air.

Pidge managed to half-catch him and Keith’s natural grace and reflexes even after post cryo-brain-mush and exhaustion he still had to be feeling kicked in a moment later and she carefully helped him to kneel.

She reached around him and managed to snag a corner of the blanket Coran had set out, a big fluffy teal one, and dragged it over.

“Cold?” she murmured and got a short nod.

Keith was steady on his knees now so she stood up, going to drape it over his shoulders and back. 

_ I am a fighter _stared back amongst the other dark lines.

She gently placed the blanket, smoothing it down, and then came to kneel back in front of him. 

“So, I--”

She was cut off as Keith _ lunged _for her, wrapping her into a hug that somehow felt even more intense than one of Hunk’s. 

“Thank you,” his breath warmed her neck. “God, Pidge. Th-thank you.”

“No,” she shook her head. “Don’t thank me.”

“You _ saved _m--”

“No. If I’m not allowed to apologize you’re not allowed to do that. We… we saved each other, Keith. Without you, I…” Her hands tightened in the blanket. “I… Just don’t... don’t say thank you. Not for that.”

After a moment he nodded.

He didn’t let go.

Neither did she.

Several minutes later though, just as her legs were beginning to go numb, Keith shifted back and she released him, their knees still bumped together and still so close she could make out the individual purple flecks in his eyes.

“We’re… we’re at the castle?” 

“No,” Pidge shook her head and almost laughed at Keith’s confusion as he glanced about the infirmary that was most definitely the castle’s.

She reached out a hand and threaded her fingers through Keith’s -- nails still missing but skin healed and pink and Coran assured them they would grow back with time -- and squeezed tightly.

“We’re home.”

Keith’s entire expression morphed; softness and pain and hope all at war with one another.

“I told you I would, didn’t I?” Pidge squeezed his hand again. “I said we were gonna get home and that when we did… that you were staying.”

His throat bobbed.

“But--”

“You’re my fellow arm. The Red Paladin of Voltron. And protest all you want but you’re stuck with us from now until forever. It’s already decided.”

“Already--?”

He cut off then with a soft gasp, a look of incredulity mixed with a softness she had not quite ever seen as he breathed a word out.

“Red.”

His Lion had reached out to him.

But then he shook his head.

“No. I, I can’t.”

Self-sacrificial _ idiot. _

“Allura stepped down,” Pidge said before he could try and protest any more. 

And every last bit of tension in Keith’s frame gave out as the meaning became clear.

Red was his.

Lance hadn’t been pushed aside.

Shiro was back in Black as their leader.

“I want to say something though,” Pidge said. “You may be in the Red Lion now but… but you are still our leader.”

“Shiro--”

“Is not the only one I’ll follow.” She picked up his other hand to squeeze them both, inflecting as much sincerity and truth and _ trust _as he had shown her. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

Keith made some sort of choked noise and with his hands occupied with hers he turned his head to the side, rubbing his eyes against his blanketed shoulder.

The motion highlighted one of the many new scars.

About that.

“Your scars,” she said softly and he stiffened ever so but within the span of a tick it had evaporated.

“You had to,” he said, holding her gaze. 

She jerked her head. She knew that.

But it wasn’t just the fact he had scars from the ordeal.

They both knew what scar in particular she was referring to.

“What…” he licked his lips. “What does it say?”

“I am a fighter.”

His eyes widened.

“You said it first,” Pidge said gently. “I asked you what you would say and you told me that no matter what we can’t give up without a fight. You called us fighters. And so… so…” she sniffled. “Asshole ordered me to write a message so we would never forget what we are. Well, the joke is on him. Because we’re fighters, Keith. And we made it home. I…” she licked her lips then. “I, I know it’s still bad--”

“No,” he cut her off, his turn to squeeze their hands. “No, Pidge. It’s… it’s perfect.”

Pidge knew very well things were far from that.

There was a lot to sort through, a lot of guilt she still had to process and come to real terms with. There would be nightmares -- they were here already -- of Keith’s screams and her bloodied hands and frightened eyes and Asshole’s cruel words. There would be bad days and good days as she healed, as Keith recovered from that trauma, as she headed back into battle.

But as her gaze drifted to her and Keith’s conjoined hands, a reminder of not only his support and love but the rest of her family’s, she knew there was nothing she could not accomplish.

She was a fighter.

He was a fighter.

And they would never give up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes _"I Am a Fighter."_ I hope to maybe see some of you in the comments one final (maybe a first ;p) time :) I apologize for the week delay on this; I felt really sad about how last chapter went over when it was a really, really big chapter and I spent a lot of time on it and I know there are far more people reading this (based on kudos and subscription numbers) than what appeared and I didn't feel up to posting it. Posting fanfiction is hard, guys. It's putting your work out that you spent countless hours on, poured heart and soul and tears into, for others to read on their own time without a single cost to themselves but it costs the author all of those above things. Giving back a moment of that appreciation, refilling that author's tank so they can try to write and post more, and just letting them know that _you are here and you appreciate them and their efforts _ goes so, so so far in the world. It costs nothing to show kindness. Major hugs to those of you who do so and do understand all the things that go into writing and posting a fanfic. Thank you for the comments, no matter how short and sweet to beautifully long and detailed, because hearing from you absolutely makes my day and you never know how badly someone on the other side of the screen needed to hear that message today. 
> 
> This is getting terribly long and I apologize. Hope you enjoyed the fic, would love to hear from you in the comments, and please stay safe out there :) Sending warm and tight Pidge hugs (but virtual so no actual contact ;)) to you all.  
(Like my works? Want to read more? Visit my [Tumblr, icypantherwrites](http://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com/)).


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